


Blended

by lordelannette



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Becca Barnes is the best, Blended family, Boys In Love, Bucky drives a Ferrari, Bucky eventually chills tf out, Bucky plays piano, Bullies suck, Doctor George Barnes, Family Drama, It takes some warming up to each other, Luxury Living, M/M, Not incest!, Not really brothers tho, Nurse Sarah Rogers, Pining, Private School, Shirtless, Sneaking Around, Step-Brothers, Steve Rogers doesn't back down from a fight, Steve is HUMBLE AS FUCK, Swimming Pools, The Barnes Family is RICH AS FUCK, asshole!Bucky, spoiled brats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-08-02 23:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordelannette/pseuds/lordelannette
Summary: Steve's eyes widened when it finally hit him what his mom was telling him.They were moving.Into the house of the man that his mother had been seeing for well over a year, who also had children of his own: Rebecca, a young girl that was the sweetest thing that Steve ever knew and Bucky, who happened to be the world's biggest asshole.As if his life could get any harder.(Or-- a Step Brother AU)





	1. I'm Sorry, What?

**Author's Note:**

> Step-Brother AU that nobody asked for but I wanted one so I created one for everyone to enjoy.

“Oh _come on_ ,” Steve groaned, letting his head fall back onto the old leather couch in Sam’s living room. His fingers were frantically mashing the buttons of the x-box controller in his hand but it was useless and he watched helplessly as Sam’s avatar killed his own _yet again._ His soldier-- decked out in patriotic red, white, and blue that Sam had nicknamed ‘Captain America’ —fell to the ground in a helpless heap and stayed motionless as Sam’s avatar did a victory dance on him.

Steve pursed his lips and rolled his eyes at the boy to his right, who was still shooting his pistols at attacking enemies—the remnants of Steve’s backup. Without their leader though, they were a lost cause and he could only watch as they dropped like flies, one by one.

“Why do you like this game so much?” Steve asked. “You know I’m trash at it.”

Sam grinned, “That’s why I like it. This is like the only damn game you can’t beat me at! Let yo boy have some happiness.”

Steve snorted, “That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard you say, Sam. The only game I ever have leverage against you is Mario Kart and Mortal Kombat, not exactly like I have an endless list like _someone_.”

“Well, _someone_ has to be my Player 2, remember?”

“Oh right, how could I forget?” Steve replied, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. With his character dead to the virtual world, he disregarded his controller onto the scuffed coffee table and picked up a pizza slice from the box in the middle that he and Sam were sharing.

He had to wait a few more minutes until the bright golden ‘victory’ flashed on Sam’s side of the screen then Sam kicked his feet up and grabbed a slice of his own, stuffing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin on his face. With an expert flick of his wrist, he pointed the tv remote towards the television and switched outputs. When the NFL logo popped up and Steve saw muscular athletes in way too much padding and nowhere near enough head gear, he shot Sam a grimace. Because unlike every boy their age, it seemed that Steve was the only one who didn’t give a damn about sports. He’d very much rather go to a movie or museum or art gala—anything but watching sports. It wasn’t that he had anything against those that did play, like Sam, it was just that he felt no connection to any of it. When he had been young, he hadn’t played tee-ball like the rest of the boys, or picked up a basketball and tried to chuck it into a net towering over him that would have required every bit of strength his small body had ever possessed. Sports had never been an option for him and he was okay with that. Sure it stung growing up and being the last one to get picked for teams and having to sit the bench every single time with his inhaler in one hand and a water bottle in the other, but he had gotten used to it. The first thing he had done his freshman year of high school was get his P.E credit out the way then it was _peace out_ athletics and hello never having to deal with those beefed up assholes again.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t see those said beefed up assholes in the halls or in his classes and really it was only when he was tucked away in the confines of the art rooms that he was actually safe. It was his home away from home, getting to let his fingers flow across the paper with his pens and pencils and seeing the images in his mind come to life. That was what he enjoyed, not—

“Do we have to watch this right now?” Steve complained, although not really meaning the words he said. It was a pointless question because Sam had told him before they even started playing video games that the Giants were playing a _very important_ game against the Rams that Sam could not and would not miss.

And even though Sam was his friend—okay, only friend—that still didn’t mean Steve was going to willingly sit there and watch a bunch of grown men pat each other’s butt and chase after an inflated pigskin on national tv. Nope, not on his agenda.

“I made a bet with Eddie that the Giants would take the Rams by 3 touchdowns,” Sam answered between the bites of his pizza that he was wolfing down in gulps. “He bet the other way around.”

“And how much is the bet?”

Sam grinned, “Winner takes $200.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “$200,” Steve repeated, dumbfounded. “Sam, that’s a _lot_ to bet on a stupid game.”

“You know, I _knew_ you were gonna say that,” Sam glanced over at him. “But you should’ve heard all the smack he was talking against my team. Gotta defend them, y’know?”

“So that means you put $200 towards one single game?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I’d only be losing $50. We each put in the same amount but Cletus Kasidy and Ben Grimm jumped in too. Saw it more as a win-win situation, really.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue that no, it really wasn’t a win-win situation but his pocket was suddenly vibrating and he pulled out his phone. He didn’t bother glancing at the screen because there was only two people that ever called him and one was sitting beside him so it only left—

“Hey, ma.”

“Sweetheart, do you mind coming home a bit early?” his mom asked from the other end of the phone.

Steve could feel his heart start to pound in his chest. She never called for him to come home early, always telling him to stay out and hang out with his friends even though she knew that it was only ever Sam he hung out with.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just need to talk to you about some things.”

His brows furrowed. “What kind of things?”

Several seconds of silence ticked by and he pulled his arm away to see if he accidentally had muted her with his cheek or something but no, she was still there, and his mute button was dim. He pushed the phone back to his ear. “Mom?” he questioned.

“Steve, just come home, okay?”

He swallowed nervously but managed to respond, “I’m on my way.” From the time he hung up and bid his farewell to Sam, he was out the door with a frantic edge in his step and his cellphone clutched tightly in his hand. He managed to make the usual fifteen-minute walk from Sam’s house to his apartment in a record eight minutes and by the time he ran up four flights of stairs and threw open their front door, he was reaching into his pocket for his inhaler and joining his mom at their small table. She had a cup of brewed coffee in her hands and one sitting in the space where Steve’s chair sat.

His brows rose up at the sight and he had to take an extra puff of his inhaler before he sat down because this… this was something serious.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve just stared at her.

Part of his brain was saying that she was trying to pull a joke of some kind, and he was waiting for her to burst out laughing, but his ma was never one to joke and secondly, well, this was so _out there_ that she couldn’t really make something like that up.

So he stayed silent and kept his blue eyes pinned on her because—because— _what_?

“Steve, sweetheart, you have to say something,” she reached across their small table and grasped his hands in hers, clutching him tightly.

He tried to. Steve opened his mouth with his questions lining up to spill out but his mind couldn’t function properly and his mouth closed shut, then opened, then closed. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to wrap his head around what she was telling him and before his thoughts jumped ship, he looked up and locked eyes with her.

“Is this set already or…”

She frowned slightly, nodding her head slowly, “Yes.”

He swallowed thickly and glanced back down at the table. Steve didn’t know what to do. He felt like he should be panicking but he figured he was a bit old to be throwing a fit and honestly, he wouldn’t do that to his ma. But she was asking _him_ right? Was she giving him the choice to decline and if he did then would she just say okay and forget she ever brought it up?

“When did he ask?” Steve tried instead. He still wasn’t looking at her but he could feel her eyes on him nonetheless.

“A few days ago. I didn’t tell you at first because I wanted to think it through, but I think this will be good for the both of us—you and me, sweetheart.”

Steve nodded his head, but the motion was a bit stiff and the frown didn’t leave his ma’s face. “When are we supposed to move out?” he asked. He tried to think of emptying out his room, taking down his drawings one by one from the walls of his bedroom but it was hard. All he ever had was the sanctuary of their tiny apartment and now it was going to be gone.

“Friday,” his ma said. Only _three_ days away. “He’s…well,” she smiled, “he’s pretty excited and figured the sooner the better.”

His head shot up, eyes wide in disbelief. “What about our lease for the apartment? We still have four weeks till the end of the month.”

His ma nodded. “He… Steve, he’s really happy about all of this. He paid out the contract. We can—”

“He paid out the contract?” Steve’s brows furrowed. “Why-- that’s not a small amount of money, ma. He works with you at the hospital. How—”

“He’s a cardiologist, Steve; one of the top specialists within the country. He makes… _quite_ a bit more money than I do.”

Oh. _Oh_.

That’s a bit more important than being someone she simply worked with at the hospital. It’s not like the man was a complete mystery to Steve, not really. His ma had talked about George more than a handful of times, but Steve had never really thought it was _serious_ —, serious enough that they would move in together. Steve had only met the guy twice and both times were when he was dropping lunch off at the hospital for his mom, but those two times had been formal with polite greetings and nothing more. Not once had George come over or his mom had left the house for a night away with him. In truth, Steve had never considered the two romantic.

And how very wrong he had been. So very, excruciatingly wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost frightening how easily he was able to look up the man, who was officially Dr. George Barnes, one of the top five Cardiologists within the entire freaking _world_. And when his ma had said he made a bit more money than her, it was the most underrated statement that probably ever existed because that man made over a _million_ dollars a year. Over. A. Million. Dollars. What did one even do with that much?? Honestly!

When he logged onto his mom’s Facebook profile through his more than ancient laptop, he searched through her short list of friends until he found George. He didn’t hesitate a second clicking on Dr. Barnes’ profile and quickly shuffled through the photos the man had uploaded throughout the years.

Which then brought him to his new freak out of the moment because not only was the man filthily rich, but he also had kids—two to be precise. There was a picture that stopped Steve in his tracks. It’s was a photo that was in high definition-- that screamed someone with an expensive camera took it-- of George decked out in a tailored suit with his arms around a young girl and a teenage boy, both equally dressed just as fancy. A quick look at the date the pic was uploaded told Steve that the picture was only a few months old, which meant that George’s son was around the same age as Steve. If Steve’s gaze lingered longer on the son—with a well defined jaw with the slightest cleft in his chin and strong facial features that left Steve’s mouth dry-- well, that was his problem.

Both kids had George’s brown hair and grey eyes, and overall, Steve couldn’t help but admit they were a good-looking family to look at. Almost perfect, in a sense. _Picture_ perfect.

Steve closed his laptop shut and burrowed his head into his hands. They were moving out tomorrow. When he woke up, he would be packing his stuff into a van and never setting foot back into his room or any room within this apartment again. He sighed tiredly to himself, knowing that forgoing sleep would be foolish, yet he didn’t want the morning to approach faster than it already was.

With no other choice, he rose softly from the chair at his desk and threw himself into his bed. He didn’t let himself look around his barren room with the blank walls and the empty furniture because this was no longer _his_ room.

Steve clenched his eyes shut but didn’t fall asleep until hours later as his thoughts took no mercy upon himself.


	2. Definitely Not a Townhouse

There was something almost… unreal about the whole thing. Like, even though Steve  _ knew _ it was coming, it just felt odd to actually lock their apartment door behind them and watch silently as his ma turned and handed their key to the landlord. The older man gave them a tight lipped parting and that was that.

Which, perhaps, was what made it seem all so strange to Steve because wasn’t there supposed to be  _ something _ ? The apartment was all that he had known-- had been his only home for seventeen years and now they were saying goodbye so easily? 

Steve gripped the strap of his duffel bag tightly as they made their way down the stairs, one foot after the other against steps he had long ago memorised. 

“Head up, Steve,” his ma told him as they headed down the last flight of stairs. “This is a new beginning.” 

She beat him to the front door and made a show of opening the door for him in an exaggerated pull because the two of them knew that it was always  _ him  _ that opened the door and not the other way around. He would have said something but his ma gave him a look that said just go with it, so he did. Crossing the threshold of their apartment complex, seemingly for the last time, Steve refused to look back because there was  _ no  _ going back. He kept his head up like his ma told him and when Dr. George Barnes was the first thing he saw, it was no surprise. 

George was standing there on the curb, looking awfully out of place in a pressed button up and slacks, standing politely by an all-black  [ Rolls Royce ](https://www.google.com/search?q=black+Rolls+Royce+Phantom&safe=active&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjHqfH6gY_eAhUHRK0KHVxYDe0Q_AUIDigB&biw=1600&bih=789#imgrc=zKDG5FDb-WWi-M:) . The man looks… good. Even though Steve had technically seen George before, he had always been in his white lab coat and really, hospital lights never did anyone justice. Without the harsh fluorescents or tint of his laptop screen, George was good-looking, like an old-fashioned movie star with his hair greying slightly at his temples. 

When he heard the door open, however, George looked in their direction and like a switch, preened when he caught sight of them. He smiled-- a flash of perfect white teeth, straight and even-- and approached as if they had known each other for Steve’s entire life.

Which,  _ newsflash _ , they didn’t, so when George rushed up to them, Steve had to resist the urge to step back. George apparently took no notice of Steve’s discomfort and stepped directly into his mom’s space, wrapping his arms around her. Steve diverted his attention at the display of affection and  _ oh hell was this awkward.  _

His knuckles turned bright white as his grip tightened on the strap of his bag and he tried to look at anything but George and his ma and the Rolls Royce and the apartment building behind them and-- 

“Steven,” George’s deep voice was shooting in his direction. 

Steve’s shoulders tensed and  _ oh shit _ George was sticking his hand out. Despite not having many friends or talking to people in general, Steve was one well-mannered dude--guy--person. It was instinct to jab his own arm out and take George’s hand in his own, shaking it. 

“Please, let me take that,” George said, already reaching out to Steve to pull the duffle bag away from him. Steve had half a mind to tell him that no, he could handle it on his own, but George had already slid it off of Steve’s shoulder and held it loosely in his right hand. With his other hand he gestured to the sleek car in front of them and stepped up to the passenger door. He pulled the door open and then moved to do the same to the rear, which fascinatingly enough opened up in the opposite direction like those super fancy cars in movies. But with a jolt, Steve remembered that this wasn’t a movie-- this was his new  _ life _ . 

“Make yourself comfortable, Steve,” he nodded towards the rear of the car while he held the door for his ma to get in.“The drive is about thirty minutes.” 

Steve nodded silently and crawled into the car. The tan leather that he sat against was plush and luxurious, quilted with the infamous  _ RR  _ embedded on the headrests. Steve leaned back trying to get comfortable as George said, but knowing that he was probably sitting in a car that cost more than his entire life, was a bit unsettling to say the least. He kept his elbows close to his frame and tried his best not to move his feet too much, just in case. Last thing he wanted to do was scuff up the carpet or, well, pretty much any surface that his body was touching. 

He sat straight, eyes scanning his surroundings and nearly flinched when the trunk was shut closed. It was only seconds later when the driver’s door was being opened and George was sliding in. 

Then, the car was put into drive and Steve turned to watch out the window as the apartment got further and further away.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, Steven,” George sent a quick glance at him through the rear-view mirror, “How have you been?” 

Up until now, the car ride had been filled with small talk between his mom and George, and Steve had been comfortable enough with it for the last ten minutes, thinking that it would stay like that but obviously not. 

“I-I’ve been good,” Steve answered. He kept it short and simple because it wasn’t like the man was asking for his life’s story. 

Steve watched the back of George’s head as he nodded, “Your mom has been telling me that you have a strong interest in art. My kid’s have had memberships at the Metropolitan Museum for years. I’m sure they’d love to take you. We could make it a day trip, if you want.” 

His eyes were trained on the passing scenery instead of looking to see if George was still watching him. They had passed the parts of NY that Steve had gotten to know throughout the years and now they were venturing into territory that wasn’t as recognizable to him. Minute by minute the familiar cracked sidewalks and clucky brick apartment buildings were lessening and in their place were polished homes and groomed-to-perfection shrubs. Steve swallowed when he realized they still had at least fifteen minutes to go and all of the street signs were pointing in the direction of Upper East Side. Steve knew George was rich but he had imagined nothing more than a posh townhouse, nestled in a nice selection of a Manhattan Street. But if they were truly going into the Upper East Side, then Steve was going to have to up his imagination. 

“I’ve heard it’s pretty packed at this time of the year,” Steve said. Which, was honestly true as he knew for a fact that it was the most popular museum in the entire state where people from all across the damn globe came to see. He had seen more than enough pictures of people crowded shoulder to shoulder to see a painting of van Gogh almost a dozen feet away. The thought of having to deal with that many people was… a  _ no _ . 

“Yeah, it usually is,” George supplied. “That’s why I bought the deluxe memberships. My daughter really enjoys it and my son, well, he doesn’t like crowds much so we have Opening-Night tickets to each new exhibit that comes in. Like I said, it’ll make for a great trip soon, if you two are interested.” 

While George had been speaking, Steve’s eyes slowly drifted to the man. One, because hell yeah he’s  _ always  _ wanted to go and two, Opening-Night membership tickets? Steve’s fingers itched to google just how much those tickets would cost but then again, here he was, sitting in a fucking Rolls Royce and driving towards Upper East Side of NY. 

Steve glanced down at his feet. “Uh, yeah… that sounds great.” 

His ma turned in her seat and reached out with her hand, grasping his knee and squeezing softly. “Sounds like a plan,” she smiled at him. “It’ll be so much fun, sweetheart.” 

When she turned forward again, Steve did his very best to ignore George’s hand as it crossed the console and molded into his mom’s leg.

 

* * *

 

 

As George turned from the main road, Steve’s brows furrowed in confusion because they were heading away from Upper East End, not staying in it like he figured they would be doing. 

Instead, George drove the car away from the bustling city life and soon they were easing up to an extremely large fence that was gated off by security guards on both sides of the building. Steve knew a gated community when he saw one but he had never seen one with guards on deck, stopping ever car that came and went. When George pulled up he didn’t bother rolling down his window, he simply nodded towards the guard with that perfect smile of his. The guard gave him a polite grin, waved, then signaled someone who must have been inside the building before the gate was being slid open. 

The car was in motion once more and unable to sate his curiosity, Steve leaned forward, looking closely as they pulled through. It took a few minutes until suddenly Steve’s jaw was dropping open. They began passing houses that were larger than anything he had ever seen before, much larger than his entire apartment complex, let alone all the apartment complex’s on his old block combined together. Every house they pass is two--three floors tall, visible from the street even though they have quarter mile driveways, each with their own tall privacy fences. 

When they pass the tenth house, Steve shrinks back into the seat. This… he hadn’t expected  _ this _ . Because this is so much  _ more  _ than a townhouse. 

And then, they were pulling up to yet another gate. Steve lost track of the number of houses they passed but here they were, outside a creme marbled fence that was twice as tall as him, a wrote-iron fence and matching light posts on every column. There were tall holly trees that rose in sculpted straight lines and stretched into the sky. It looked like something right from the Buckingham Palace. 

George pulled a device out from the side of his door and pointed it at the fence. One quick click had the gate welcoming them in and made the air in Steve’s lungs halt. 

He didn’t look up ahead. 

He didn’t listen as George and his mom talked. 

He didn’t realize when the car eventually stopped. 

He didn’t listen as the engine was shut off. 

“Sweetheart,” his mom was reaching for him again. When her skin touched his, he found the will to breath again, and sighed heavily through his nose. Steve met her gaze. “We’re here,” she smiled and nodded her head towards the door. 

Steve glanced to the side and only one thought shot through his head:  _ Holy fuck _ .

 

* * *

 

 

The house itself wasn’t a house. It was a fucking  _ mansion,  _ a mansion of a mansion, really. It’s two levels high, carved quite literally from cream marble and decked out in floor to floor windows. There’s archways all along the bottom floor with balconies along the second. The gardening pulls it all together, with shrubbery gardened to perfection and trees immaculately placed identical to one another. It’s-- all of it is incredibly  _ breathtaking _ . 

Breathtaking in an overwhelming sense of luxury and wealth. Everything which  _ isn’t  _ Steve.  

He’d grown up in a two bedroom apartment that was exactly fifteen steps from the front door to the bathroom (which had been the furthest room from the entrance of their home). The entranceway of the front door of George’s house  _ alone  _ looked larger than that. 

Steve stepped out of the car with wobbly legs when George opened his door. His mom was at his side immediately, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close for a hug. She was watching him carefully, without the slightest concern of George at the moment, as her entire attention was directed on him and  _ only  _ him. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” she murmured. “But it will all be okay. Just…  _ please  _ give this-- give them a chance.” 

Steve looked up at her and exhaled shakily. He wanted to tell her than this was impossible. He knew he didn’t belong here. But when he opened his mouth to say the words, they froze on his tongue. 

Because what was he supposed to say? ‘No mom, I can’t do this so let’s go back home’, when neither of them exactly had a home to go back to because that mansion was supposed to be their home now. So, no, it wasn’t like he had a lot of options. 

Instead of speaking, Steve nodded. It was enough for his ma apparently, since she gravitated towards George and left him standing there like a leaf in the wind. Which,  _ okay _ , may have been an exaggeration but… Steve’s train of thought died off when he glanced down. His worn navy  [ Chuck Taylor’s ](https://www.ebay.com/itm/Converse-Chuck-Taylor-All-Star-High-Top-Men-Women-Canvas-Shoes-M9622-Navy-Blue-/271021906086) were a harsh contrast against the granite beneath his feet. And-- damn it-- if that wasn’t the sign he needed. 

He didn’t get to stare long because George started walking toward the house, his ma’s hand tucked into his own. Steve would have followed but his duffel bag (yes, all of his clothes fit into a single duffel bag) was still stuffed in the trunk and he’d feel much better if--

“Come on, Steven,” George’s voice was calling him. His kind eyes were set on Steve and it took every fiber of Steve’s being to not shuffle his feet beneath that strong gaze. “Jarvis and the staff will get your belongings and take them up to your room.” 

Steve felt his chest stutter at George’s words and he glanced back at the trunk of the car but George and his mom were waiting for him so he shoved his hands into his pockets and watched silently as two men came gliding from within the house, both wearing matching black morning suits. He wanted to tell them that it wasn’t necessary, and that his own hands were perfectly fine, but one glance at his ma told him to just go with it. 

His shoes felt like they were filled with cement but he forced his feet forward anyways. 

Well, here went nothing.

* * *

 

 

 

 

***** In case any of you guys wanted to know what the Barnes Mansion looks like, here you go!

 

[ Front View (in daylight) ](http://cgrendering.com/project/mt/#4)

[ Front View (with lights on) ](http://cgrendering.com/project/mt/#2)

[ Back View ](http://cgrendering.com/project/mt/#3)

[ Back View Close-Up ](http://cgrendering.com/project/mt/#1)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psstt, Bucky and Becca are in the next chapter!!


	3. Not One, Not Two, but THREE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, both Steve and Bucky are 17. Becca is 13. 
> 
> Also, any pictures that I add of either Steve and Bucky, they both have no facial hair. They still have their cute baby faces! It's just kinda difficult to find pictures that don't feature Seb's hot as hell stubble.

Stepping through the glass door felt as if he had stepped into another dimension. An alternative reality that had jumped straight from the pages of  _ Luxury Home Magazine  _ that Steve would see on the shelves of the market they always bought their groceries from. If the outside looked big, then the inside was  _ massive.  _ Steve felt puny in the  [ foyer ](http://cgrendering.com/project/mt/#5) because everything was just so… grand.

 

In the center of the room, hanging from the second story ceiling was a large, crystal chandelier that hung above a decorative table. There was a spiral staircase that led to an open balcony on the second floor and Steve could make out two dark hallways that branched out from both sides of the space upstairs. On the bottom floor there was a dark oak Steinway piano and matching bench that had sheet music layed out on the upright desk. Steve glanced towards George. The older man didn’t seem like the type to play piano but then again, with the amount of money this guy had, it wouldn’t shock Steve if George bought it just for the sheer hell of it. 

 

Steve didn’t move much from the doorway, just as he hadn’t moved in the car, more afraid that if he did then he would break something and it wasn’t like he could afford a damn thing in this house. The whole place felt fragile as if one misplaced breath would send the whole place crumpling down. 

 

“Becca! Bucky! We’re here,” George shouted. The abruptness of it started Steve with a jolt and it was quiet for a mere moment until there was a sudden bustling of footsteps rushing into the room. 

 

A young, brunette girl ran into the room, her arms wide in the air. “Well finally!” she smiled and dove straight into her father to wrap her thin arms around George’s middle, squeezing him hard. It was only then that George released Sarah’s hand and enveloped his daughter in a hug. 

 

“Hello to you too,” George said, kissing the top of Becca’s head. When the girl pulled away her eyes went straight to Sarah, that smile on her face turning shy, and she waved her small hand. 

 

“Hi Sarah,” she spoke. And then her grey eyes shifted and settled on Steve. He felt like a deer caught in headlights and awkwardly waved his hand but Becca had apparently made up her mind and rushed forward, throwing her arms around Steve just as she had done to her father. She squeezed him tightly and for a second, Steve could only stand dumbfounded because he had next to zero experience with children, so he let his hands drop onto her shoulders and patted her as gently as he could. 

 

“I’m Becca,” she spoke into his stomach. Her arms didn’t loosen. 

 

“Uh, h-hi Becca,” he stammered. “I’m Steve.”

 

The young girl giggled, “I know, silly.” Becca released him and stepped back, “So are you going to be my second brother now?”

 

The question was so  _ out there  _ that Steve’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock because, well,  _ what _ ? His ma must have thought it was the cutest thing in the world because one glance at her and Steve could see her laughing quietly into her hand. Steve on the other hand…

 

“ _ Becca _ ,” George warned her. 

 

The young girl shrugged. “What? They’re living here now so they aren’t they family? Last night Tony said--” 

 

George raised a hand frantically, and cut her off. “I’m not entirely sure we want to hear what Tony said.”

 

Becca shook her head in confusion, “But--”

 

“No, Becca.” 

 

The girl pursed her lips and muttered an apology but her tone made Steve very much doubt her sincerity. He was really starting to like this girl. 

 

George paid no mind to his daughter and instead turned his gaze up towards the banister. His eyes were searching the top floor and when several moments passed, George’s brows furrowed and he turned to look questioningly at his daughter. “Becca, where’s your brother?”  

His question was met with silence. 

 

Steve glanced between the father and daughter, watching George stare down the young girl. Becca, however, had her brows pulled together, her front teeth biting into her bottom lip. 

 

George cleared his throat, “ _ Becca _ , I won’t repeat myself.”  

 

The young girl threw her hands onto her hips in exasperation. “He left,” she answered finally, but not looking at her father. “‘Bout an hour ago. Said he was going to Tony’s house.” 

 

George exhaled harshly. “I told him to stay here tonight. I told  _ you-- _ ”

“And I did! I stood in front of his door and  _ tried  _ to tell him but he just lifted me up and threw me on his bed-- which was completely  _ rude _ , I should add-- and then he left!”

George sighed and turned towards Sarah, briefly glancing at Steve, “I’m so sorry about this. He knew you were both coming today.” 

 

“It’s fine,” Steve’s mom reassured the older man. He could see the way she watching George carefully, as if she weren’t entirely sure it was okay. Because one look at George and Steve could see the frustration brewing behind those grey eyes. It only made Steve wonder just how many times Bucky had disregarded his father’s wishes. 

 

“No, it’s not fine,” George insisted. “I need to call him.” 

 

Before any of them could say otherwise, George pulled his phone out from the pocket of his slacks and walked through an archway to the left. The older man held the sleek device up to his ear with his back facing them. He was technically in another room but Steve could physically still see him and found it difficult to glance away knowing that on the other end of the phone was the handsome teen from George’s Facebook profile. The one that had Steve’s stomach in knots knowing that he was going to have to  _ live  _ with him now. Part of Steve was actually glad Bucky wasn’t here yet because then he could take all of this one step at a time. Then again, from the way George was practically walking on eggshells around the topic  _ of  _ Bucky, Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky’s arrival was a good thing. For him, that is. 

 

He was still watching George when Becca jumped in front of him. Steve jumped as the girls energy practically sparked electricity into the air. “It’s going to be so much fun now that there’s gonna be another boy in the house,” Becca gushed up at him and reached out to clasp Steve’s large hands with her smaller fingers. She started to jump up and down in excitement causing Steve’s shoulders to bob in place. 

He nodded his head and tried his best to smile down at her, “Yeah.”  Becca kept jumping around with his hands still held in hers. He kept blinking at her, trying to focus on the words running out of her mouth at a mile per minute but his ears had perked up when he heard George’s voice echo from the other room. 

 

“--Bucky you knew you were supposed to stay here-- I don’t give a damn if you’re at Tony’s--” 

 

Steve’s eyes glanced over. 

 

“--No--  _ Bucky--  _ No!” 

 

George was pacing back and forth now, angrily fuming into the phone. Becca had begun twirling around him. 

 

“Bucky you listen to me right now. You have an hour. I swear, if you aren’t home for dinner-- I cannot believe you would be this  _ inconsiderate _ . One hour.” George pulled the phone away from his ear and ran a tired hand through his hair. Steve glanced towards his ma but her gaze was set firmly on George. There was a frown on her lips. 

 

“He’ll be here soon,” George tried to grin as he walked back into the room but it was weak and looked sad in Steve’s opinion. The man stopped as he reached them and bent to place another kiss on top of Becca’s head. He sighed as he spoke, “In the meantime, how about you show Steven around the house? Let him get familiar with everything before dinner.” 

 

Becca jumped up at his words and nodded her head frantically, just as she wrapped her arms around Steve’s hips once more. “Yes, yes, yes!” She grabbed onto Steve’s hand and began to drag him towards the stairs. 

 

Steve looked towards his ma, shocked more than anything, but she only nodded her head in encouragement with a soft smile on her face. It only added fuel to the fire burning beneath Becca’s steps. With Sarah’s nod, Becca began shooting up the stairs two at a time.  

 

He may have tripped on the first granite step, but he found his footing after that.

 

* * *

 

  
  


Turns out, the house was actually three levels. There was a basement-like floor that had a fucking  [ _ home theater _ ](http://lesurinvestment.com/home-theater-design-group.html/custom-home-theaters-magnificent-home-theater-design-group) _.  _ A literal movie theater that had leather seats and an entire wall designated for an HD screen. Even more unbelievably, there was a stocked candy counter, popcorn machine,  _ and  _ bar nestled in the back of the room that Becca said her father never checked so Bucky was known to occasionally snag a bottle or two. 

 

But that was a secret, and Becca made Steve swear he wouldn’t say anything. So of course Steve pinky promised. 

 

The first floor was the living area. On the left side of the house there was the  [ kitchen ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/90/ef/d1/90efd15926ffd68175f4bc1ce654ef4b.jpg) and an incredibly large  [ dining room ](https://www.google.com/search?q=luxury+dining+rooms&safe=active&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiN4fWD8JveAhUJna0KHWexCdEQ_AUIDigB&biw=1600&bih=789#imgrc=HpLDZNQbGL8QUM:) where Becca said her father threw dinner parties for his colleagues and close friends. Then there was the  [ main  ](http://youresomummy.com/14921/luxury-dining-room-sets/luxury-dining-room-sets-brilliant-traditional-table-in-beige-hd085-classic-throughout-2) dining room where they would eat the majority of their meals in and there was  _ also  _ a  [ breakfast  ](http://cgrendering.com/project/mt/#7) room (which was apparently a thing upon the wealthy) that was an extension from the kitchen. There were more bathrooms than to count as well as sitting rooms, where there was not one  _ single  _ television in. When Steve had asked why not, Becca had answered that her father didn’t like tv’s, whining something about George thinking they were tacky and unnecessary for people to see. 

 

Which, is where the basement came in. Because down there, it was loaded. Apart from the home theater-- Steve doubted he would ever get used to that-- there was also another television room that actually looked  _ lived  _ in, unlike the rest of the house. Everywhere they had been on the first floor, there was not a single thing out of place; not a smudge in sight or decor piece out of place. But down in the living room, there were several throw blankets tossed haphazardly around the couches, pillows rumpled, and a disregarded xbox controller laying beside the tv remote. There were various opened game cases that were resting on the coffee table and sitting in front of the screen was the complete set up of Rock Band-- drum set, mic, and two guitars sitting upright on their stands. It looked… well, it looked comfortable as hell. In that room it felt like Steve could breathe properly again. 

 

But it wasn’t as if Steve could stand down there forever and eventually Becca was dragging him up to the second floor, which was where the bedrooms were. Upstairs was fairly straightforward. From the second floor foyer, there was only three directions to turn. To the left was the master bedroom, along with Becca’s, and to the right, was Bucky’s as well as--

 

“And this is your room!” Becca smiled as she opened the door. There was no creek in the hinges and it opened smoothly to reveal a bedroom that was nearly three times as large as his one back home-- er, well, the apartment. He followed Becca in with a hesitant glance. 

 

“It used to be a guest room but no one ever slept in here. Dad got a new bed though, just to make you comfortable,” she rambled on. Steve was listening but his eyes were absorbing the room as much as he could; creme walls, all-white sheets on the bed and curtains, pale marbled floors. It was nice but...

 

“It’s so plain but Dad wanted it that way.” Becca walked towards an empty desk and pulled various magazines out. She held them without care and was quick to dump them on the bed where Steve stood. He watched her as she began to flip through them. “These are some catalogs that Dad got for you, so you can go through them and pick out what you want.” She glanced up at him and narrowed her eyes in consideration, “Do you like blue?”

 

“Uh-- sure,” Steve dumbly replied. 

 

“Bucky’s room used to be blue but then he changed it to grey,” Becca was talking to herself, Steve figured, and kept her head bowed as she continued to flip through the waxed papers. “He wanted black but Dad said black is a sad color. Mom let Bucky have a black room at her house, not the walls though, only the furniture and his bed--  _ Ooh _ ! How about ash furniture?” She lifted up the catalog and showed him a very pristine photo of a bedroom sculpted to perfection, apparently decked out in  _ ash  _ furniture. He let his eyes venture to the prices on the side and nearly felt his eyes pop out of his skull when he caught sight of the price tag. 

 

Steve licked his lips, “It’s nice but maybe something a bit different?” 

 

Becca picked up a separate catalog and tossed it up for Steve. He caught it but just barely. 

 

He picked the pages apart with nimble fingers and glanced towards Becca when she jumped onto the bed. “I think it’s easiest to start with the furniture ‘cause then you can pick the decor to correspond.” 

 

“You sound just like a designer,” Steve grinned. The jab rolled off his tongue almost too quickly and he felt his heart pound thinking he may have just crossed a line. He opened his mouth to apologize. 

 

But the words died off before they began as Becca sniggered. “Well, I’ve heard interior designers talk nearly every seasonal change so it’s not much of a surprise. Mom likes to stay current with designs, Dad not so much, but they were here just last week switching everything out of this room.” 

 

Steve looked away from the catalog in his hands, shaking his head in dismissal. The prices on these things were abysmal and there was no way he was going to pick the cheapest bedroom set that cost more than five figures. Was there not an IKEA catalog hidden in the drawers? 

 

“I think the furniture in here now is good,” Steve said. “It’s nice.” 

 

Becca sat up and frowned. “Is this not your thing?” 

 

“I… It’s just…” Steve tried to find a way around saying what was really bothering him about this entire process, but somehow midway, his brain just said f _ uck it _ . He sighed, and eyed the young girl, “I’m gonna be honest. These prices are a bit... insane.” 

 

There. It was out there. 

 

Becca’s frown deepened. “The prices?” She reopened the catalog and quickly scanned the pages as if it was the first time she was truly looking at the prices. He wondered if she ever looked to begin with. 

 

He doubted it. 

 

“You know what,” she closed the catalog and threw it to the side. “Let’s do this later. I don’t think it’ll take long for you to pick out what you want. Dad just wanted me to tell you to pick whatever you liked. You know,  _ I  _ wasn’t the one who was supposed to show you around and everything-- Bucky was but he’s obviously not here. I’m sure he would have made it--  _ this--  _ all easier for you, since, well, he’s your age.”

 

Steve’s brows lifted at her admission. He couldn’t actually imagine Bucky here instead of Becca and somehow he was actually glad for the younger girl’s presence instead of her brother’s. 

 

“Well,  _ I’m  _ glad you’re here.” And it was the truth. Becca looked over at him and smiled in appreciation. 

 

“Thanks, Steve.” 

 

They stood in comfortable silence for a while. Steve was eyeing the room trying to picture how it would ever be  _ his _ , and if it ever truly would be. He tried to picture his art work tacked up on the walls like how he had it in his old room, or perhaps how his notebooks and pencils would look on his new desk. He wondered if this room was supposed to be picture perfect like the rest of the house or if this was his slice of  _ imperfection  _ that he was to divulge in. 

 

He glanced back at those catalogs, disregarded on the bed by Becca inspecting her nails in silence. Steve figured if this was to be his new life, he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. He had always liked being the only child of his mom but looking at Becca and thinking of her smile and personality, Steve felt like he had missed out on something. 

 

Steve swallowed down the thought, “So, what time do we go down for dinner?” 

 

The young girl rolled over onto her stomach and propped her head up with her fists. “Usually around six-- depends on what time dad comes back from work.” 

 

Steve glanced at his watch.  _ 5:47 _ . “I guess we’ll have to head down in a bit then.” 

 

“I guess,” Becca shrugged. “We probably won’t actually eat until later since Bucky isn’t here and if dad told him to be here in an hour then he won’t be here till seven.” 

 

Steve’s brows furrowed. “But he said that over an hour ago. Shouldn’t Bucky be getting here like, at any minute?” 

Becca snorted and glanced towards him, “This is  _ Bucky  _ we’re talking about.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

 

She frowned, turning back to her phone but her eyes weren’t focused on it. Becca pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, “Sometimes it…” but then she stopped and shook her head softly. “Let’s just go to dinner.” 

 

Steve was no fool but he wasn’t going to push Becca into talking about things he had no business knowing. Because Bucky was not his business, heck, the entire Barnes  _ family  _ was not Steve’s business. 

 

So, Steve nodded his head in silence and didn’t say a word when Becca popped up from the bed--  _ his  _ bed-- and began walking towards the door. Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced towards at feet as he followed after her but then--

 

Shit. 

 

“ _ Wait _ .”

 

Becca rounded on him with wide eyes at his tone of urgency. “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” 

 

Steve brought his head back up to look at the girl. “Uh, this might be a stupid question but don’t I need to change? What am I supposed to wear?” 

 

Becca’s head tilted to the side. She looked confused as hell. “Wear?” she repeated slowly. “I would hope clothes, Steve.” 

 

And, well, obviously. 

 

“--Then again, Bucky’s sometimes shown up in pajama pants and nothing else so…” 

 

Steve’s eyes widened at that omission.  _ Uh, what _ ? His brain short circuited for a second because… because dinner at the Barnes mansion seemed like it was a suit and tie sort of affair. Yeah, that’s why. 

 

“So I go just like this?” he motioned down at his outfit; which was nothing significant, a worn pair of jeans and faded blue shirt. It was almost scraps compared to how George had been dressed, even Becca, with her  [ floral dress ](https://lifeandstyle.alexandalexa.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/for-a-girl-2.jpg) . 

 

“What’s wrong with what you are wearing?” 

 

“So this is fine?” Steve tried to clarify. 

 

“If you want to change, then go for it.” 

 

Steve frowned. “Do I  _ need  _ to change?” 

 

“Steve. It’s just dinner. It’s just us,” Becca grinned in amusement. Whatever she was seeing, must have been hilarious to her. Thank god it was her here and not the other one. He was sure his cheeks would be inflamed red at this point in pure embarrassment. 

 

He nodded his head.  _ Right _ . Just dinner. Just us. 

 

His mouth twitched wanting to say that there was no ‘us’, not yet, maybe never, but he couldn’t find the words to do so. Steve followed after Becca and let the door close behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Silence was something that Steve had learned to enjoy. From an early age really, because that meant he was allowed to be by himself and not have to crumple beneath the social pressures of making friends and having to deal with people in general. Because people meant bullshit and Steve was not a bullshit person. He didn’t hate people per say but… people weren’t his strong suit. But he could  _ do  _ silence. 

 

He preferred silence. 

 

Now, however, sitting at the table with Becca, George, and his ma, the silence was so uncomfortable that Steve feared he was going to choke on the air. Why? Because Bucky was late. Just as Becca had predicted, and George, being the ever adamant father that he seemed to be, absolutely refused to begin dinner without his son. 

 

So they sat there and waited. And waited. And waited some more. 

 

George was at the head of the table with his elbows on the wooden surface and leaned forward with his jaw being propped up by his hands. His ma was to the man’s left trying her very best to keep everyone engaging in small talk but the conversation had lost its fuel when George began to silently fume with Bucky’s absence so now it was meaningless. Becca at least seemed to not mind, almost as if she were used to this by now, so Steve tried to pay attention to her as much as she could. She was the one that was telling these cheesy kid jokes and asking question after question about their lives. Steve appreciated her efforts and tried his best not to notice the hopeful glances Becca would shoot towards her father, or even the archway that Steve supposed Bucky would be entering through. 

 

With every passing minute, Steve resisted the urge to shuffle in his seat. Beside him, his ma kept giving him encouraging nods and tight lipped smiles. He glanced up, however, when he heard footsteps tap against the hard floors and caught sight of Jarvis entering, gliding elegantly to George. 

 

“Sir,” he bent at his waist slightly to address George, his British accent strong, “Bucky has just arrived.” 

 

George looked up sharply. “Did he go to his room?” 

 

“I would ask if you have an inch of faith in me but I think that answers it,” a very new voice calls out. A very sinuous and pleasing voice that has Steve’s pulse racing and his lips parting slightly as he looks in the direction that voice came from. Because there was Bucky, head bowed to look at his phone as his fingers typed against the glass screen and a sly grin playing against his lips. He was tall and lithe in black skinny jeans that were tailored so well that it looked like they fit him like a glove and did him every justice imaginable. He was in a dark navy button up shirt, with a pressed collar and aviators shoved up into his short chestnut hair. And  _ dear fuck _ he was wearing a leather jacket.  [ Bucky  ](https://twitter.com/asgzrd/status/1001004225202085888) looked…  _ really  _ good. The picture from George’s facebook had been good but seeing Bucky face-to-face was a completely different story. He had a strong jaw, angles looking as if they had been crafted from marble, like a modern Greek statue. His hair was groomed to perfection with waves that looked messy but really weren’t. He was beautiful. 

 

And Steve knew he was fucked. 

 

Steve felt his cheeks get warm and lowered his eyes. He was aware of Bucky’s movements as the brunette made his way around the table and plopped down into the chair beside Becca, the one that was right in  _ front  _ of Steve. But Bucky didn't look up. He was still immersed in whatever he was doing on his phone. 

 

From the front of the table, George made a show of looking at his Rolex. “Only thirty minutes late. Wonderful job, son.” 

 

Bucky paid him on mind. He was still type, type, typing away at that damn phone. Steve glanced towards George and watched as his lips thinned. 

 

“ _ Bucky _ .” 

 

Bucky paused and moved his head to the left to glance at his father. As George had done earlier with his fancy watch, Bucky made an exaggerated move of clicking the off button of his phone and tossing it onto the table without care. Steve almost flinched at the impact. 

 

“Yes?” Bucky answered. His grey eyes didn’t stray from George and Steve could only watch in silence as they stared at each other. 

“Nice for you to finally join us,” George spoke. “We were beginning to wonder if you’d even show up.” 

 

Bucky grinned at that, eyes narrowing in a way that Steve couldn’t describe. “That would be a bit of a stretch wouldn’t it? I do live here after all... or has that changed in the last few hours since, well...” he let his sentence trail off but Steve saw the pointed look Bucky’s eyes flickered at his side of the table. 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” George scoffed. “We’ve had these arrangements for almost a month--” 

 

Steve’s brows furrowed and he turned to look at his mom. The Barnes family had been expecting them for nearly a month? How in the hell did Steve only find out not even a week in advance? 

 

“-- and the least you can do is have the decency to show up on time for dinner.” 

 

Bucky’s face was blank as he listened to George. His jaw was drawn tight, clenched, and Steve peeked through his lashed at the way the muscles moved. Then, his face relaxed like a switch had been flipped. “Well, I’m here now aren’t I?” Bucky replied.

 

It appeared as if George wanted to say something more but he held his tongue. Becca was glancing hesitantly between the two of them; to Bucky, then her father, to Bucky, then her father again. 

 

But then, George sighed and reached out to grasp his glass of white wine. Dr. Barnes nods his head to something behind Steve and seconds later, Jarvis and the other members of his staff begin to serve them dinner. When the glass plate is set in front of Steve, his mouth waters at the sight. The meal in front of him is breathtaking and part of Steve isn’t even sure if he would be able to properly identify what the heck it consisted of. He had binged watched seasons of Hell’s Kitchen and seen Gordon Ramsay's serve up plates just like this. Steve stared down at the array and then glanced towards both sides of the plate where there were literally three different sized forks. 

 

Who the hell has to use  _ three  _ different forks for one meal? It’s insanity is what it is. And, even worse, it makes him panic. Because Steve doesn’t want to look like a downright idiot in front of these people who apparently know what fork is used for what part of the meal. He doesn’t bother looking at his mom because she hasn’t actually began eating, having small talk with George as the staff bustles around. So Steve looks across from him but Bucky is talking to one of the men asking for something that Steve can’t hear and when he glances towards Becca, she’s smiling softly at him already. She must have seen his struggle and found it downright hilarious, he figures. 

 

With Becca still watching him, he glances at the forks in question and raises a questioning brow, shrugging his shoulders minutely in helplessness. Her smile stretches and she reaches with expert fingers to clasp the middle fork. 

 

He gives her a quick nod in gratitude and somehow, his attention moves to the left and freezes, caught like a deer in headlights. 

 

Bucky is looking right at him. His body is angled, towards Becca, but his eyes are set on Steve. And then it dawns on him that Bucky must have seen the whole interaction between him and Becca. Steve bows his head and doesn’t dare look up. But if he had, he would have seen the small quirk of Bucky’s lips and the amused glances that the Barnes siblings shoot at one another. 

 

Steve may have jabbed at his beef wellington with a bit more force than needed. He wanted to grab a different fork just for the hell of it but then that would be rude and Bucky had already seen his idiocy so it was no use. He popped the meat into his mouth and resisted the moan that wanted to come forth because the food was  _ damn  _ good. 

 

Now this, he could get used to. Three forks be damned.

 

* * *

 

  
  


“So when are you gonna let your boy come over?” Sam’s voice was loud through the phone in Steve’s hand. “You have a damn movie theater in your basement so I better get at to spend the night at least an entire weekend!” 

 

Steve laughs at that but makes sure he stays quiet enough. He doesn’t know what time Bucky goes to bed, with them sharing the same hallway, so he makes sure his noise level stays at a minimum. Then again, he’s practically whispering into his phone. 

 

“None of this is mine, remember?” Steve speaks. “All of the fancy stuff is, well, just stuff, Sam.” 

 

“You know, you are probably the only person on this entire damn planet that would protest to that house. A personal movie theater, Steve!”

 

“Yeah, one that I will probably never use. All of it is too much, Sam. It’s like, really, really, obvious that I don’t belong here,” Steve mutters. “They had three different forks. Like, who does that?” 

 

Sam snorted. “Rich people. That’s who. Which, you now happen to be one. Or are you forgetting that you are probably sleeping in a bedroom that is bigger than the entire bottom floor of my house?” 

 

“It’s hard not to forget,” Steve answers. “And you know what else? It is so quiet here. I can’t hear any honking horns or blaring radios, Sam. It’s just  _ silent _ . I think I can actually hear the blood rushing in my ears.” 

 

“Always wanna exaggerate everything. Just admit everything is great over there. I promise I won’t get  _ that  _ jealous,” Sam laughs. 

 

Steve’s laying down on his back, letting his eyes skim over the ceiling above him. It’s so high up that even if Steve were to stand on the bed and outstretched his arms, his fingers wouldn’t come close. He’s been laying in bed for over an hour now, staring, wide awake with nothing else to really do. It’s barely ten and he hasn’t heard Bucky go into his room so he can only figure that he’s somewhere around the house, probably in the game room that Becca had taken him to earlier. Steve would be out of his mind if he thought he could just waltz downstairs and say ‘hey, pass me the controller!’, so he doesn’t, and he stays staring at the ceiling with his phone pressed into his ear. 

 

“And I promise that as soon as things settle down, you’ll be the first person that I invite over,” Steve grinned. 

 

“Oh, how sweet,” Steve can literally envision Sam’s eye roll, “good to know I’m the first friend that comes to mind.” 

 

“First and only.” The words have always come out smooth and on instinct but now he swallows heavily and he feels a dull ache in his chest. He feels isolated here, away from the world. He’s always been alone but it feels so much…  _ more  _ here. 

 

At his turn of thoughts, he feels his throat tighten and has to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Because he  _ is  _ alone here. He doesn’t even have Sam anymore, not really, not like he used too. 

 

“Hey,” Steve clears his throat when it suddenly becomes too much, “I’ll, uh, call you tomorrow, okay? I’m pretty tired out after everything.” 

 

Sam is silent for a few seconds, almost as if he  _ knows _ , and Steve only prays that he doesn’t say anything because if Sam acknowledges it then it’s all real and Steve won’t be able to ignore it so easily. 

 

But, Sam doesn’t say anything. Instead, he hums into the phone, “Okay, Steve. You sleep tight in that awesome new room of yours and you better call me tomorrow and tell me how  _ dope  _ that home theater is. Night, Steve.” 

 

Steve says goodnight back and then he’s hanging up, staring at the words ‘CALL ENDED’ for more than he realizes. By the time he clicks his phone off, it’s nearing eleven o’clock. He forces his eyes shut and tries to get as comfortable as he can in such a big beg, which is an incredibly easy task. He listens to the soft rhythm of his breathing and slowly feels himself drift off into sleep. Right before he succumbs into his sleep, he realizes that Bucky has yet to go to bed. 

 


	4. Leather Wallet and Black Skinny Jeans

Steve had always been a naturally early riser. It was more odd to find him asleep at ten o’clock than it was to see him awake at six thirty, it’s just how he was. His ma had always called him her sunny boy, saying that the sun directly gave him the energy to rise and fall but he was a bit too old now and the nickname was just downright ridiculous.

In truth, he had always loved the serenity in being awake before everyone else. When they still lived in the apartment, the early hour mornings were when he sipped on his coffee and sat down on the fire escape to watch life slowly bloom-- more and more cars turning onto the roads, the noise getting louder increment by increment until the streets were flooded and jam packed with the busy Brooklyn lifestyle. Then again, that’s how it used to be, just a few days ago, and now, there was no trickle of sound that snuck into his room.

It’s only eight, which, is kinda late in his definition of morning, but he doubts anyone else is awake if the silence is anything to go by. He hasn’t heard anyone, not even Jarvis or one of the staff, and knows that his ma has already left for work so she won’t be poking her head in to check on him any time soon. That leaves him alone and with no other options than to get ready for the day.

Steve digs through his duffle bag that has yet to move from the corner of the room and pulls out a pair of clean clothes that he figures will have to do. As quietly as he can, he pulls open his door and turns to pad down the hall where Becca had shown him the bathroom. He moved to tip toe forward but pauses when he looks towards Bucky’s door. Because the door is cracked open and Steve sees a peek of dark grey wooden floor. Somehow, it feels forbidden, as if he isn’t supposed to be seeing into Bucky’s room. Steve is quick to advert his eyes and continue walking to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

He’s out in fifteen minutes flat. The tips of his hair are still damp by the time he goes back to his room and this time, he doesn’t bother glancing to the door across from his. His hand halts on the knob of his door, not sure if he’s supposed to close it behind him or leave it open, so he settles on leaving it be, halfway in between the two. Steve plants his hands on his hips once he’s in his room, and looks around the room. It’s abnormally clean-- cleaner than what Steve would have kept it, but he assumes its because nothing in the room is really his. His handful of belongings are in a packed up cardboard box beside his duffel bag that he has yet to touch.

Steve disregards both of them once again and plops onto the bed, pulling his phone off of the charger and bringing it over his head. His phone is a bit outdated and slow but it works nonetheless and is more than enough for what Steve needs it for. He frowns, however, when he glances at the top of the screen and sees the faded wifi symbol that is desperately searching for the old hotspot at the apartment. With a few swipes of his fingers, he pulls up his data usage that he already knows is incredibly low so he can’t really play around on his phone. Still, he tries to find a wifi signal that he crosses his fingers will be open. When he catches sight of the signal named BARNES he nearly rejoices in triumph _until_ he sees the bold lock symbol that has him instantly rolling his eyes. Because _of coarse._

 He makes a mental note to ask Becca for the password later before he tosses his phone to the side. It takes him a few moments of wondering silence on what to do, before he heaves himself up with a heavy sigh and settles on finally putting away the clothes that remain in his bag.

Steve tries to drag the task out as long as he can make it but having only a few articles makes the job having the ability to be completed in less than a few minutes. He opted for the dresser that leans against the wall, near the doors of the closet, instead of using the _actual_ closet because having a total of eight objects hanging only made both the clothes and the closet look pitifully bare. And quite pathetic to be honest. Then again, a closet that size seems impossible to fill because there’s no way anyone would have that many clothes or shoes to fill the damn thing up.

So he opts for the dresser and makes sure he closes the closet doors behind him.

It feels like a relief, however, when Becca enters his room mere minutes later and relieves him from the utter boredom that he could feel creeping up his spine.

She’s all smiles in her [ baby blue gown ](https://www.gucci.com/us/en/pr/children/girls/girls-clothing-4-12-years/girls-dresses/childrens-cotton-dress-with-bows-p-519462XBE824914?position=9&listName=ProductGrid&categoryPath=Children/Girls), with a pristine white collar and soft bows trickling down the front of her dress. The garment makes the faint blue sparks shine within her iris’ and the sight of her french braided pigtails make Steve smile.  

“Didn’t know if you were awake or not,” she grins up to him. “But looks like you’ve been up for a while now.”

Steve shrugs. “Not too long,” he lies through his teeth. “Just enough to get ready.”

“Well the fact that your _dressed_ by nine is a miracle to me,” Becca laughs. “Wait until you see how Bucky looks in the morning. Talk about a disaster,” she snorts in amusement. Steve nearly tells her that he _highly_ doubts Bucky could ever look like a disaster, but he refrains and saves him from that particular mess of admission.

“Are you hungry?” Becca tilts her head to the side. “Dad’s downstairs and there’s breakfast if you want some.”

 And, yes, food is _exactly_ what his growling stomach needs. With a nod of his head, Becca plucks his hand from his side and drags him downstairs to the kitchen. She’s running her mouth a mile per minute, talking gibberish nonsense that Steve responds to as best as he can. Sometimes she speaks so fast that Steve finds himself struggling to keep up.

But as they enter the kitchen, she quiets and releases his hand. “Steve’s up!” she announces.  George is sitting on a stool at the large island counter that sits in the middle of the kitchen, a cup of brewing coffee in one hand and reading from a tablet in the other. When he hears them enter the room, he looks up and nods, grinning towards Steve.

“Morning Steven,” George speaks in that rich voice of his. “We were just starting to worry about you,” he finishes off in a soft laugh, like it had been meant as a joke or something. But then Steve catches on to the word **_‘we’_ ** that George had used and he turns towards Becca in confusion--

Suddenly Steve is choking on his own _goddamn tongue_.

Because Holy. _Shit_.

Bucky is leaning against the counter, shirtless, with thin pajama pants that are low enough on his hips that Steve can see where the muscles of his abdomen jut out beautifully from his body and disappear beneath the elastic fabric of his Calvin Klein’s. His chestnut hair is tousled as if he just woke up but all Steve can think is _sex hair_ and that thought leaves him absolutely mortified with himself in a sickening, pleasing sort of way. Bucky barely glances his way and instead of saying anything, he tips his head back and tosses a grape into his mouth.

There’s a shiver that shoots down Steve’s spine.

Steve quickly turns back towards George, and moves to take a seat in the stool next to him. “I--uh-- just got out of the shower,” Steve struggles to find his train of thought. He isn’t looking at Bucky, but somehow he can feel the intensity of Bucky’s gaze burning against his skin. What’s worse is that he feels his cheeks warm up and knows his skin is bright red-- damn his pasty skin-- and that everyone in the room is probably staring at him in confusion. Or perhaps horror, or a terrible mixture of both.

“How’d you sleep?” George miraculously asks instead. Steve answers that he slept great and through the corner of his eyes, Steve sees George gesture towards one of the staff and then suddenly there’s an entire tray of breakfast foods laid out in front of him. He blinks down at the array of items and stares, not knowing where to start first-- either the orange slices or the crisp bacon or the sliced strawberries or the small stack of french toast with powdered sugar dashed across and a silver syrup bowl beside it. There’s a yogurt parfait with blueberries and nuts and a fresh pick of mint leaves placed on top, and there’s also an omelette with stuffed vegetables and chives and-- it’s all too much. _Surely_ George would know that.

Steve looks back up.

George smiles, a bit sheepishly if Steve’s being honest. “I may have went a bit overboard on asking Jarvis to prepare your breakfast but I wasn’t sure what you did or didn’t like so I had them make a bit of everything.”

“Uh, thanks,” Steve replies. He gently picks up one of the spoons on the tray and reaches for the parfait. He feels fancy as _fuck--_ because who the hell eats parfaits for breakfast?-- and moves to dip the spoon into the yogurt until an amused snort fills the air and Steve pauses, his eyes flicking up to land on where the sound came from.

_Bucky_.

Steve lowers his arm until it rests against the countertop and forces himself to sit up just a bit straighter. He stares at Bucky, and surprisingly enough, Bucky actually _laughs_. As if he finds something funny.

 Steve looks on, dumbfounded, and glances towards George when Bucky moves his attention to his dad.

“A _bit_?” Bucky raises his brows. “Looks like you’re trying to feed an army.”

George levels a look with his son. “I wanted Steve to be comfortable--”

Bucky rolls his eyes and pops another grape into his mouth. “Aren’t there starving children in the world?” his mouth is busy chewing the fruit but it doesn’t refrain him from speaking. “Seems a bit wasteful to use that much food on one meal, don’t you think?”

George opens his mouth but Bucky is quick to cut him off, letting his eyes lazily drag back to Steve. “Especially for one person,” Bucky finishes. Steve clenches down on his jaw, staring back at the brunet and for a moment, it seems as if time freezes, the way they both stare at one another, neither backing down.

But then, George begins to speak and Bucky blinks, tossing his head back again and eating another grape.

“It’s important that Steve is comfortable in this house. That _includes_ eating his preferred breakfast meals,” George finalizes.

There is a drawn out stretch of silence where no one really moves and it’s awkward but Steve would rather much hear the quiet than have Bucky say anything else. There is just something about the guy that makes Steve want to throw fists-- maybe punch him in that stupid fucking perfect face of his. Or his teeth, because those are pretty perfect to, much to Steve’s annoyance.

Becca-- bless her soul-- leaves the spot she had been rooted at and reaches into the cabinet. She pulls out a tall glass and looks at him, “Want something to drink?”

It’s a relief to speak again as he tells her he would and as she walks towards the large steel fridge, Bucky watches her as she moves around him. She pulls the door open and when Steve peers inside, he’s amazed that there can be that much of a selection of beverages that they have. She looks at him questioningly and moves to the side as if letting him get a better view.

It actually takes him a second to sort through his options because there is that damn many. At the apartment it was either water, milk, coffee, and on good days, orange juice. Here, he quite literally can have whatever he wants. When he catches sight of the bottled Starbucks vanilla frappacino, it’s a no brainer. He figures he could get used to that at least.

“So Steven, did you get around to looking through those catalogs?” George directs the conversation once again. “Your mom said you would really like to make it your own, paint and all. Whatever you want, we should be able to do.”

Steve swallows, “I haven’t really gotten around to it yet.” It’s not a lie but it’s also not the entire truth.

“Well, the sooner you do, the faster you are to making that room yours,” George flashes him a grin. Steve nods, not really knowing what else he is supposed to do or say.

“Oh, and since you three are all in here,” George puts down his tablet and gives them each a look. “Sarah and I are talking about going to the Met.”

Steve brightens up at that and turns towards George in interest. Becca jumps into the air with an excitement that is uncontainable, pumping her small arms up and down as she squeals in joy. Bucky on the other hand--

“Cool.” Bucky leans off of the counter and pads to a plate that Steve hadn’t noticed before. It’s resting on the counter in between Steve and George, just inches away from where Steve’s eating. Bucky picks up a piece of french toast with his bare fingers and puts it into his mouth, taking a bite. “Can’t make it though,” Bucky talks through his mouthful.

Steve can’t tell if he’s doing it just to be annoying or if he actually has a bad habit. Which, considering George and Becca’s manners, he figures its the first rather than the later.

George looks up at Bucky and exhales heavily through his nose. “I didn’t say when we are supposed to go.”

Bucky’s fingers, which had been reaching down to grab another piece of toast, pause, and he rolls his eyes as he glances up to his father. He exaggerates a sigh, “When are we supposed to be going then?”

“Monday,” George answers. “Sarah and I think it’s perfect timing since we’re both off.”

“ _Off_?” Bucky scrunches his brows as if it’s the strangest thing he’s ever heard. “I wasn’t aware you had a work schedule.”

“I already transferred all of my appointments to Dr. Lee.”

“Good for him,” Bucky deadpans. “But back to what’s _really_ important, I _still_ can’t go.”

“Of course you will,” George turns back into his tablet.

Steve watches as Bucky’s eyes harden, his face turning mulish. “I don’t _want_ to go.”

George pays his son no mind and instead, checks the time on his watch and begins to rise from his chair. He reaches out to grab ahold of his covered tablet and a set of keys, before grabbing a briefcase that was resting in the empty stool to his left. “I have appointments till two but I have a meeting later in the afternoon so I should be getting back at about five. Sarah will be here in a few hours but until then--” George glances pointedly at Bucky then Becca “-- be good. And no fighting!”

George is gone before any more can be said. And the very _second_ that they hear the front door close, Becca rounds on her brother.

“Why do you make everything so complicated?” she narrows her eyes at him, her hands planted on her hips. “I hate when you do that. You _are_ going with us, no buts or bs.”

“Oh yeah, because _you_ of all people tell me what to do.”

In a flash, Becca pushed out her arm and punched Bucky in his thigh. It was a solid hit, surprisingly enough, and Bucky’s body shifted as he took the jab.

Becca grinned, “That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”

Bucky moves around the kitchen and pulls open the fridge door. He blindly reaches in without turning his head away from his little sister. “You know I was just kidding about not going.”

“Sure you were.”

Bucky apparently sees a losing battle and with his bottled iced tea, he slinks out of the room, mimicking Becca’s voice over his shoulder. The younger girl huffs as he leaves and turns towards Steve. “You boys give me headaches.”

Steve laughs at that and thinks, _sweetie, you have no idea_. He finally dips his spoon into the yogurt and eats his breakfast. 

* * *

 

“So what is it that you like to do?” Becca asks. It’s just the two of them as they make their way down into the living room.

“Not much,” he answers.

“Do you like video games?” she presses on. “We have a lot of those. Bucky’s always been a gamer and i’m not that good but I _can_ hold my own in Mario Kart and I can play a wicked drum solo in Rock Band.”

Steve gets a flash of him and Sam jamming out to _Sweet Child o’Mine_ on Guitar Hero last summer and he grins. “Well, it just so happens that I have had my fair share of Guitar Hero. Wanna see who can keep the longest streak?”

The younger girl snorts. “You’re on.” 

* * *

 

Two hours later and somehow, he and Becca have gone on a virtual music tour and rocking out in major cities across the globe. His character has a mohawk that stands at least a foot into the air and Becca’s has bright pink hair with a pony tattoo on her upper shoulder that pops out every time the spotlights flash over the drums.

They’re doing quite good, if Steve’s being honest, and it’s only been the two of them until they begin their tour in Europe. It had been going so well until Bucky enters the room and suddenly Steve is so self conscious that it hurts to breath. It’s pathetic but Steve is hyper aware of Bucky moving behind them, listening to every step his feet make against the floor, and how he drops himself onto the couch just inches behind Steve.

Steve forces himself to keep his attention on the plasma screen, not blinking as he matches up the switching colors to the button he presses with his fingers. It feels like the song drags on forever and when they finish, naturally with an exaggerated drum solo on Becca’s behalf, Steve’s shoulders slump in relief. Well, that and he’s been standing for a couple of hours and his spine is starting to protest.

Becca stands up from her stool that she had positioned near the mock drumset and as their results flash onto the screen, she bows as if their audience were in the room with them. She too must have gotten tired and she stretches her arms above her head.

“Only four and a half stars Becks?” Bucky shakes his head in mock disappointment. He’s sprawled out across the couch in a pair of black skinny jeans and a loose t-shirt, his phone held loosely in front of him. He looks more comfortable than Steve has seen, and it’s irritating that even in regular clothes Bucky looks like he’s escaped from a magazine cover.

“Out of five stars!” Becca argues back.

“Those are rookie figures,” Bucky replies. “You need to boost those ratings up.”

Becca purses her lips at her brother, sticking out her tongue. “Steve and I are doing great. Don’t be jealous that he’s better at guitar than you, Bucky.”

Bucky drops his phone onto the couch and let’s his gaze flicker lazily towards Steve. He doesn’t look away as he draws out, “Well when _Steve_ plays on Medium, I would hope he does good. Doesn’t take a prodigy to press two buttons at a time.”

Steve’s jaw clenches at the thinly veiled insult. Bucky looks away with an infuriating smirk on his face that Steve wants to wipe away. Becca suggests they all play Mario Kart and it’s no shock that Bucky wordlessly declines. He stays though, watching silently between Becca and Steve, as they battle it out on the screen. Unlike before, Bucky sits up and leans closer towards Becca than Steve. Which is perfectly fine as far as Steve is concerned. 

* * *

 

When he turns in for bed that night, he catches sight of the catalogs that had been nagging at the back of his mind all throughout the day. He notices them because they’re on his bed instead of on the desk where they were when he woke up this morning. When he picks one up and begins to flip through, he pauses when he realizes all of the prices have been blacked out.

It makes him smile and only then does he actually begin to consider what’s inside.

* * *

 

  
Unlike the previous morning, Steve is awoken by the mattress of his bed frantically bouncing him up and down. He jolts awake, eyes wide when he sees Becca jumping over him.

“ _SteveSteveStevewakeupwakeupwakeup,”_ she’s breathless as she keeps jumping, her brown curls floating up and down with her movement. “ _GetupGetupGetup!”_

Steve’s body is still being tousled as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He lets out a stifled yawn as he pushes himself up. “Okay, okay,” he mutters. “I’m up.”

Becca stops her bouncing and drops down onto the bed, laying down beside him. “Well finally!” she says. “You’ve been asleep forever.”

His brows furrow and he turns his head to look at his phone. It’s only 9. Considering he went to bed well past one in the morning, it isn’t as bad as it could have been.

“Get upppp,” she reaches over and shakes him despite knowing that he’s already awake and checking the few notifications on his phone (all from various news sources and one text from Sam). “And get dressed too.”

“I’m getting up,” Steve responds. Although, apparently, he’s not moving fast enough for the young girl.

Becca groans and rolls out of the bed just as Steve pushes the covers away from his body. “Can I pick out your clothes?” she asks once her feet hit the ground. She’s already moving towards his closet before Steve gives her an answer and when her she pulls the door open, she stops in her tracks. “Have they not brought your stuff in yet?” she asks in mortification.

Steve snorts and goes to open the dresser where he threw in his clothes. “Yeah, they did.” Becca glances to where he’s at, sees his clothes, and frowns. The thing is, Steve knows the clothes within the expensive dresser is a sorry sight. He literally has three pairs of pants-- his old jeans, his nice jeans, and his khakis. There is exactly five t-shirts and three dress shirts that Steve has had for a few years now. When Becca walks to the dresser, she stares down at the folded pile of garments in silence.

Becca hums, long and thoughtful. “If my mom was here, she would probably pass out. How the heck is this all that you own?” she turns towards him with incredulous eyes.

Steve shrugs. “I’m a guy. I don’t need a lot of clothes.”

“That’s the biggest load of bs that I’ve ever heard. You wanna go see Bucky’s closet? He has more clothes than I do.”

The thought of sneaking across the hall flashes in Steve’s mind and he can picture Bucky still in bed, shirtless, as he and Becca tip toe into his closet. It seems much to… intimate to go into Bucky’s room when he isn’t wanted so he refrains from addressing Becca at all.

Steve swallows, “Well, I don’t need a lot of clothes then.”

“Well, I think we’re gonna have to go shopping.”

And coincidentally enough, that’s exactly what George announces at breakfast. Steve glances at Becca but she pretends to be busy chugging down a glass of orange juice instead. Although he’s only half awake, Bucky groans.

It’s just past noon when everyone gathers in the foyer on the main floor. Everyone as in Steve, his ma, and Becca, that is. George enters moments later, his phone pressed against his ear and keys dangling in his hand. The older man takes them in and when he notices that his son is nowhere to be seen, he covers the receiver and shouts upwards, “Bucky! Let’s go.”  

It’s only seconds later when Bucky is gliding down the steps, rolling his eyes and scrolling through his phone. His hair is styled to the side and combed sleek, with a show stopping dull [ yellow leather jacket ](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/8c/4c/d0/8c4cd022c4edb527fd571545f218ea82.jpg) and black t-shirt and skinny jeans. Steve resists the urge to scoff. It is almost cruel how good looking the brunet is, and how seemingly easy he makes it seem. When Steve tries to look more than presentable, it takes him hours in front of the mirror-- his hair too thin to style, his clothes too common and body too thin to actually turn any heads. Bucky though…

“No need to yell,” Bucky says as he finally reaches the bottom of the staircase.

George considers Buck for a short moment, still holding the phone to his ear, and then moves on wordlessly. As George walks towards the front door, the rest of them do too.

There is a black Escalade pulled to the front of the house and George wastes no time getting in. Sarah gets into the passenger side which leaves the three of them waiting to pile in. Bucky is busy typing away on his phone so he doesn’t seem to notice the pause as Becca stares at the seats. Steve realizes then that both Becca and Bucky have probably never even used the back set of seats. But before Bucky looks up from his phone, Becca is already climbing into the back, which leaves the two seats open in the middle.

The two seats that Steve and Bucky will sit in… side by side. Not even a foot apart. _Great_.

They eventually climb in and soon enough, the car is put into motion. The radio is on and George and Sarah are busy chatting away in the front, with Becca joining in every few minutes. Bucky is slumped in his seat, sunglasses pushed low on his nose and knees carelessly spread apart. Bucky’s legs are outstretched, close enough that the ends of his polished leather loafers are nearly touching Steve’s chuck’s. They’re _close_ . So close that Steve can smell the pleasant whiff of something distinctly _male_ and sinful enough that makes his brain tickle. Steve pulls in his legs as close to his seat as he can and shifts so that he’s turned more towards the window and as far from Bucky as he can possibly get. 

* * *

 

Steve figures they make an odd looking bunch. George is dressed proper and prim like he always is, with slacks and a nice button up collared shirt. Bucky and Becca are decked out in clothes that Steve knows have to be designer items, probably more expensive than Steve would care to know. Which leaves him and his ma, looking like regular, average people. Well, his ma actually looks good with a blouse and nice pants, and it leaves Steve looking almost like a homeless person in comparison. His skinny jeans have a knick in his right knee and his chucks are scuffed and he doesn’t look like he should be anywhere _near_ the Barneses.

But he is with them, and when they walk through the mall Steve wonders if people actually think they are one big blended family like they’re supposed to be morphing into.

He doubts it but then again--

“You boys go shop for some clothes,” George instructs them. They’re standing huddled together on the bottom floor, near a toy shop that Becca is relentlessly tugging her father towards, and Steve figures George isn’t going to get out of it so they may as well multitask. Or, splitting up is what George had intended to do in the first place. Which he doesn’t care per say, but that means it’s only going to be Steve and Bucky and well, Steve isn’t sure if that’s the best idea.

“Don’t come back until you have at least a dozen outfits,” George continues. “Make sure it’s a variety of clothes.”

“A variety?” Bucky echos. He’s huddled close to Becca and his father and hardly looks towards George as his eyes dart over the crowds, flickering quickly from one person to the next. Bucky has his hands shoved into his jacket and pulls the leather close around himself. “Like what?”

“House clothes, pajamas--”

Bucky’s brows scrunch in confusion. “Why would we need to buy pajamas? That’s the most useless thing to shop for.”

“Just go buy clothes,” George sighs. “Call me in a hour, okay?”

Bucky’s eyes narrow but he says nothing. His elbows pull in closer to his sides and he glances towards Steve. For one quick, fluttering moment, their eyes meet and hold and Steve swears he see a flash of uncertainty but then it’s gone as Bucky’s eyes dart to the side and he begins to turn away. Steve gets the message and follows after him.

Walking side by side, it’s awkward. Despite being inside, Bucky has lowered his glasses onto his face as they ride up the escalator. His chin is tipped up and he sets himself apart from every person they pass, making sure there’s a foot in distance at all sides. When the eager sales associates come bustling up to them as they walk down the endless strips, Bucky doesn’t glance their way and holds out his hand to keep them at bay. They stare at him dumbfounded, taken aback by the gesture, and look at Steve but he simply shadows after Bucky and flushes red in horror at Bucky’s lack of manners.

“Who even goes to malls?” Bucky mumbles. It’s safe to say that Bucky is beyond irritated and has been since they walked into the building. “There’s too many fucking people.”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not so bad,” he replies. It takes him a second to realize that Bucky may not have been talking to him and when he glances towards Bucky through the corner of his eye, he doesn’t even cast a glance in Steve’s direction. They step onto another escalator and keep riding up towards the sky light that shining through the windows.The silence between the pair keeps ringing in Steve’s ears despite the loud noises coming from the ‘fucking people’, as Bucky had so eloquently put it. He swallows and glances around, anywhere but towards Bucky, and they keep ascending. 

* * *

  
Now the thing with malls is that although there’s a lot of people, there’s only a lot of people in certain areas, all cram packed in the foot court of shuffling from retail stores like Old Navy and American Eagle to Forever21 and H&M-- places where the majority of people shop. What Steve didn’t know, however, is that the further you went up, the more these crowds fanned out until they were basically nonexistent. So by the time they glided onto the fourth level of the mall, Steve could count on one hand the amount of people that he and Bucky passed.

One quick look around them told Steve exactly why that was.

These stores… they were brands that were made only for the rich and wealthy. Made for people that had so much damn money that they would willingly spend thousands of dollars on one dress. In other words, _insane_ people. There’s Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Hermès, and Chanel on one side, and Fendi, Givenchy, and Alexander Wang on the other, and the high-brand stores just keep popping up they continue to walk along. It’s clear at this point that Steve, most certainly, does _not_ belong here. He should be browsing through the sales racks in whatever retail shop is having a clearance discount storewide, not up here, pretending he could have close to enough for one single shirt.

Yet, it seems that Bucky is in his natural born element, as if none of this overwhelming amount of richness concerns him. Bucky just strolls on his merry way with those damn sunglasses and his leather jacket without the slightest care in the world. With the crowds gone, he seems more comfortable than before, enough that he’s relaxed and his arms are hanging freely by his sides. Bucky is the complete juxtaposition of Steve at the moment, mirroring their opposites on how they had both appeared on the ground floor, with Bucky uncomfortable and Steve at ease.

It seems unfair, in Steve’s opinion, that there were people-- people like the Barneses-- who would spend so much money on pointless things when there are impoverished countries and starving children in the world. But those thoughts obviously do nothing to Bucky and as he strolls into a store with sleek black walls and floor to ceiling glass windows, Steve’s lips part.

Yet, when Bucky glides straight into [ Balmain ](http://matthew-eaton.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/balmain.jpg), Steve has no other choice than to follow.

There’s white walls and granite floors that are so polished that Steve can see his reflection upon the surfaces. It’s all too... elegant, with a fancy grey couch in the middle of the room and black marbled counter tops, clothes evenly spaced out on hangers dangling from gold racks. It’s not like the shops that Steve is used too, with clothes folded on display shelves in half-assed, frantic ways, or garments thrown on hangers without care and crammed onto racks that are already spilling with clothes. So he _knows,_ he knows that there’s not a way in living hell that he will be able to buy anything here. He can literally hear the cries of protest from his beaten wallet inside his pocket, his sole debit card getting ready to split in half and fall uselessly to the floor.

Steve opens his mouth to suggest that perhaps they try somewhere different-- somewhere _cheaper_ \-- but suddenly a woman is striding towards them with more makeup plastered onto her face that Steve has seen paint on a canvas. She’s in a dress that looks two sizes too small and is so stiff that it actually looks like she is having difficulty breathing and may pass out at any moment. Steve frowns as she stops in front of them. He isn’t blind to the way she eyed them from a distance, looking Steve up and down with a look on her face as if she had gotten a whiff of something bad, and then at Bucky, who she smiles brightly at. She cuts Steve’s presence out completely and practically salivates at the mouth towards Bucky.

And okay, that was rude as fuck. He may not be the ideal customer but he’s still a customer even if he’s only going to be browsing. (Which, yeah, Steve’s decided that he’s just going to say he likes nothing in the store to keep Bucky from pushing him to buy clothes.)

The woman’s smile is stretched wide, with her red lipstick glistening beneath the lights. “Good evening, gentlemen, is there anything I can help you with today?”

“That seems like a pretty pointless question,” Bucky replies, flatly, as he shoves his sunglasses up into his hair. There’s a hard tint in the grey of Bucky’s iris’ as his eyes quickly sweep the store and then land on the woman. He watches her in something close to disdain, not trying to be discreet in the slightest. “We’re here to buy clothes. Obviously.”

Steve’s gaze flickers towards Bucky, resisting the need to apologize on his behalf because, well,  the woman had been rude to him and wasn’t there a phrase that went something like ‘two wrongs make a right?”’-- Steve supposed this is one of those kind of things.

And, well, he would be lying if he didn’t admit that it actually felt good to see the woman visibly wilt before their eyes. She nodded her head, the movement quite jerky, and took a step back as if she was seeing them in a different light.

“Right,” she nodded her head again, “my apologies. Would you like help with--”

Bucky sighed in irritation, already taking a step away from the woman. “We’re perfectly capable of going through the collections ourselves.”

The woman’s mouth stayed open, perhaps in shock, Steve didn’t quite know, but she looks in his direction as if asking for help but Steve adverts his attention and strides straight past her. He may mumble a quick apology as he does so but the words are so faint that he doubts she heard him to begin with. Either way, he doesn’t care.

When he catches up to Bucky, the brunet is skimming the shelves yet not actually touching anything. Steve wordlessly stands by his side and searches for, uhh, he actually has no idea but it beats standing there like a useless lump.

“What are your measurements?” Bucky’s voice almost startles him. He has a way of being incredibly silent when he wants and yet when he wants to be heard, Bucky’s voice is strong enough that it couldn’t go unnoticed. It was a voice that demanded attention.

Steve turns his head to look at Bucky in confusion. “My measurements?” he repeats. Steve had never been measured a day in his life. All he had ever been associated with were the letters: XS, S, M, L, XL. And he’s never sprouted enough to get past the third option. “Uh, a medium?” he says.

Bucky finally stops and looks at him, giving him a look that’s somewhere in between disbelief and irritation. “Hate to break it to you, but there is no such thing as a _medium_ in this store. It only goes by your fittings.”

“Well then let’s go somewhere that has a medium,” Steve snaps back.

“Why?” Bucky’s brows scrunch. It’s as if the thought of leaving is so downright ridiculous Bucky can’t understand it. “Why leave when we can get your measurements here? _Especially_ when there’s such a nice store attendant--,” the brunet let’s his voice carry, “--so _eager_ to please”. The same woman from before snaps to attention and begins to rush over. Just as she reaches them, Bucky talks as if she’s not there. “She can take your measurements in like less than a minute if she’s competent enough to her job.”

Bucky then glances at the woman as if he’s just now seeing her. They both stare at one another; the woman wide eyed and Bucky looking thoroughly annoyed.

“Well?” Bucky barks out and the woman jumps into motion.

“Yes, sir,” she pulls out an all white measuring tape and gestures towards Steve to hold out his arms. Bucky stays close but isn’t paying them any attention as the woman bustles around Steve. Instead, he’s walking down the racks of clothes and stops as he pulls out a pair of black leather combat boots. He considers them for a moment then holds them by their backs in his left hand. Steve watches him as he continues to walk, not paying the slightest mind to the woman’s hands that feel cold against his body. 

* * *

  
Somehow, every shirt that Steve stops to look at, Bucky ends up pulling it from the rack and wordlessly handing it to him. In a span of a few minutes he has somehow gone from not knowing his measurements to having at least six shirts, two jackets, and three pairs of pants stacked up in his hands. They’ve been scouring the racks on both sides of the shop until they come to the end of the wall, where everything is either in a shade of black or extremely dark grey, and Steve glances towards a circled rack that is resting off to the side. While Bucky is seemingly looking through the dark selections, Steve shuffles through the more colorful items.

Or at least he tries to until Bucky is suddenly right there again and is shaking his head, “No, not those. Those are last season’s collection pieces.”

Steve frowns, “They seem fine to me.”

“Yeah, they’re _fine,_ that’s it,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “We went through the clothes here already so let’s check out. We should have enough time to go to two other stores.” Bucky doesn’t let Steve answer and instead, starts walking towards the checkout counter where that woman is waiting, that glossy smile stretched.

“And which stores would those be?” Steve asks. He makes sure to step besides Bucky instead of behind him so that the brunet has no choice but to acknowledge him.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers. “Does it matter?”

Steve wants to say that of course it matters. He wants to say that they should disregard this floor entirely and go back to the lower levels. He wants to say that he’s not the type of guy to wear designer clothes and that he’s perfectly fine with shopping from sale bins. But he doesn’t. He stays silent because he doesn’t want to annoy Bucky any more than he already is.

It is only when they reach the counter that Steve suddenly realizes something drastically important. Somehow, throughout all of this, Steve had forced himself not to look at the price tags while Bucky was tossing things to him left and right. It was a stupid mistake on his part. Perhaps the biggest _idiotic_ thing that he could do considering where he was at but he figured it wouldn't be _that_ bad. They were getting clothes for crying out loud. But when he watched Bucky toss his things up on the counter and followed suit, he waited with baited breath when the woman grabbed the first item. It was a pair of pants; a pair that Bucky had practically thrown at him. 

The beep registers through Steve's skull and when the electronic display in front of them brightens up, Steve's eyes practically fall from his skull when the price shows up. 

He almost thinks it is a system glitch. A faulty bar code that got its signal switched with something that should in no way be in a clothing store. But then his gaze trickles over the item's description and yep, it's labeled correctly: BLK SKN JNS. His heart plummets as the woman folds the black skinny jeans up and places them gently into a nice, large white shopping back, moving onto the next article of clothing as if Steve wasn't having a silent panic attack. As if there was nothing absurd about plain jeans costing $650 dollars. 

_Uh, what._

Steve may have never been in a shop like this before but the price is _not_ what he expected. More importantly, the cost is so out of his price limit that he almost laughs. Well, he wants to laugh for a split second before realization dawns on him and he feels the color fade from his face because he feels absolutely terrible and the woman’s only scanned one item and he has eleven more to go and he’s sure he’s going to faint at any moment in sheer mortification.

He glances at Bucky but Bucky being Bucky, he pays no attention to the digital screen in front of them that keeps going up and up with every tag the woman scans. His head is tipped back slightly and his hands are shoved in the pockets of his jacket and he’s looking at the cashier as if willing for her to hurry up. Steve on the other hand, can feel his heart in his throat and his pulse is beating rapidly against and he is in no way calm about any of this because he can’t even afford the damn pair of pants.

Steve clears his throat and turns towards Bucky. He’s embarrassed as hell but he has no choice. At least Bucky gives him the decency of shifting his head towards him, still tipped back and relaxed. He raises a dark brow. “I, uh, forgot my card at the house,” Steve lies, and dips his head as the blood rushes to his cheeks and down his neck.

He’s ready to hear Bucky complain and curse and spit fire at Steve’s bullshit but Bucky does no such thing. Instead, his brows dip and he gives Steve that confused look that Steve is quickly becoming accustomed to. “So?” Bucky says. He says it in such a perplexed way that Steve feels the words he speaks are in a different language that Bucky can’t understand.

Steve sighs heavily and brings his head back up. “ _So_ , I can’t pay for these.”

He waits for Bucky’s spew of anger of all this time wasted, thinking that now Bucky will understand, but instead, he snorts. It goes even further when he actually has the audacity to grin at Steve as if it’s the most hilarious thing that he has ever heard.

“You aren’t supposed to pay for these,” Bucky replies, slowly as if he’s speaking to a child. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet, that’s sleek and black leather just like everything else Bucky owns. He opens it and with quick fingers, he pulls out a shiny grey card that almost looks metallic and sharp around the edges. He holds it between his pointer and middle finger on his right hand and flashes it towards Steve.

_Oh_.

Steve flushes, “Bucky that’s-- I can’t ask you to do that.” The brunet looks at him, like for the first time, _really_ looks at him. They are both silent and the woman keeps scanning the objects. The beeping is loud between them but neither Bucky or Steve look away. Bucky is regarding him with a look that is almost soft, with his lips opened slightly and the edge lost in the cold grey of Bucky’s eyes. Like this, so close together, Steve can see him so clearly and although he’s always considered Bucky handsome from the very moment he saw that Facebook picture, he’s so much _more_ than that. Steve has the sudden urge to pull out a pencil and paper and draw Bucky just the way he is so that it will be captured for Steve’s enjoyment forever.

But then, Bucky swallows and turns his head, dipping his chin down and letting the strands of his brown hair fall into his eyes. “I’m not doing anything,” he remarks. “It’s my dad’s card.”

Silently, he hands it towards the cashier without care that the screen reads a total of $16,850 and she swipes it with eager fingers before handing it back. Bucky slips it back into his wallet and together they both grab the bags the woman shuffles towards them that now has their personal belongings. They leave wordlessly, side by side, and say nothing as the woman says, “Have a great day.”


	5. Just a Painting

Chapter 5: 

The next morning, when they are all climbing back into that large black Escalade, it feels easier than it had the day before. This time there is no pause; everyone falls into place as if they have done this hundreds of times, as if they really are a  _ family  _ amongst themselves. That particular realization nearly causes Steve to have a mild aneurysm because _ no way _ can that possibly be normal at such an early stage-- only three freaking days for fuck’s sake!-- so he quickly excuses  _ that  _ idea to keep his good mood at its peak. Because he is adamant on not letting anything or more importantly,  _ anyone _ , from ruining this day.

Because this is  _ his  _ day. This whole MET visit was for him, George wanting to play the good guy card to his best ability and showing off what he could bring them-- as if things like that mattered to Steve or his ma. Nonetheless, Steve wouldn’t willingly pass up such an opportunity because this was the freaking MET. It was on his bucket list, written precisely in the number four slot, right beneath _ 3\. Visit A Foreign Country  _ and above  _ 5\. Get a College Degree. _

So yeah, he was pretty damn excited. Sue him.

Hours prior he had woken up with a buzz of excitement, and had thrown off his covers and gotten dressed in record time, sprucing himself up as best as he could. He had tried his best to think what looked best together but he had as much fashion sense as his left thumb so he sat there on the floor of his walk-in closet and tried to think  _ “What would Bucky wear? _ ”. Which, is essentially how he ended up in his outfit and when he jotted downstairs, Becca gave him a big grin of approval. He may have rolled his eyes in return, but it still felt like a pretty major improvement.

Breakfast had been tedious and slow, with Steve’s knees bouncing up and down as he silently urged everyone to just hurry up so they could get going. The only one who seemed to be on his level of eagerness was Becca, who had practically bounded nonstop in her seat, smile bright on her face.  _ Unlike  _ Steve, however, she hadn’t been shy to verbalise her wish for everyone to  _ go, go, go! _

And true to his ever infuriating self, Bucky had taken his damn well time spreading butter on his toast and then taking just as long with the jelly. Steve had scowled everytime Bucky took a bite.

As they drove, they listened to the radio and Becca sang from the backseat. It wasn’t uncomfortable as it had been the day prior even with Bucky still sprawled out in his seat and swiping through his smartphone despite George addressing him here and there. Steve’s fingers twitched to do the same just to kill the time but he was practically running on no remaining data and he figured he needed to save it for an emergency because you can never be  _ too  _ sure. That, and well, his phone looks like a brick compared to the sleek Stark phone in Bucky’s hand.

So Steve was more than happy to leave his phone in his back pocket and instead choose to stare absentmindedly out the window. They were getting closer towards Manhattan but they still had almost half an hour with the traffic. He looked at the passing crowds as the New Yorkers dally around, suits pressed and briefcases in hand. It’s a work day and the majority of the people walking the sidewalks look nice and professional, clean as they head to their white collared jobs. Because the part of the city where they are currently driving through does not have anything  _ but  _ occupations for the more wealthier citizens.

Steve gets a sudden onslaught of feeling like he’s imposing on them, that for some strange reason they have the ability to see through the tinted black windows but then he remembers.

He remembers where he woke up that morning and the morning before that, remembers the mattress that felt like a giant cloud and hugged his back in every right way. He remembers the Rolls Royce, then the Escalade, and the rich leather interiors. He remembers the clothes that he had put on his body that morning, remembers the price his outfit is worth and how easily Bucky had swiped his credit card.  

And as if by the snap of his pale fingers, that feeling of discomfort disappears.

Steve looks down at the foreign clothes on his body that are crisp and refreshing, still having that slight ‘new’ smell. He can’t quite tell if he’s entirely comfortable as he’s still trying to get a feel for them but they are nowhere near as worn and settled as his old clothes had been and although the fabrics are soft to the touch, he can just  _ feel  _ the difference and that difference is strange.

Strange in a weird, fucking  _ great  _ kind of way.

He has on dark greyish-blue trousers that are the most fitted things he has ever worn, with a pressed white button up underneath a navy blue sweater that dips down his chest and it’s all so… it’s  [ _ awesome _ ](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/41/a1/a2/41a1a212196e61611902f2331a1a108d--pierre-balmain-male-models.jpg) .

Steve wants to say that it doesn’t make a difference, that it is just  _ stuff--  _ fancy clothes and a luxury mansion and grandeur vehicles-- and that none of it really matters in the long run, but it would all be a lie because here he is, decked out in designer clothes and riding in a goddamn Escalade on his way to the Met. He is quite literally living the dream.

The fucking dream, man.

Part of him is still in disbelief that all of it is actually happening at all and that perhaps he could be stuck in some strange fantasy world that could suddenly all disappear in a blink of an eye.

He thinks that if that were to happen, he would be okay because he really still hasn’t gotten used to all of this new stuff... _ yet  _ at the same time, he knows he would miss it all-- the overwhelming luxury. Because honestly, who would mind living in a mansion in a gated community without having the constant fear of someone breaking down the thin door that is supposed to be his protection against the outside world? How many nights would he lay awake worrying his teeth into his bottom lip thinking about the dainty chain lock that could go down with one quick blow?

Or what about the food that is in constant supply? How often was it that Steve and his ma had to eat week-old leftovers? All of those times they had to plan their meals in precision so that they would have enough to last them until his ma’s next paycheck, having to go to bed with the slight urge of hunger clawing at his stomach. It hadn’t been unbearable and Steve had understood that hard times called for struggles but he had dealt with it throughout his entire life so he had been used to it. But  _ now _ ?

Now he could open the Barneses fridge and pull out anything he could think of-- drinks, snacks, food-- at any hour of the day and not have to stop eating because he  _ had  _ to but because he wanted to. Or he even had the choice to glide into the huge walk-in pantry and get lost in the shelves that rivaled those of a supermarket, stacked up and constantly in a never ending supply.

Or what about the most important difference? He wouldn’t dare dismiss the fact that his ma looked so young now, so carefree with not having to bare the weight of the world on her slim shoulders. She looked so happy, happier than Steve had seen her in a long time and he wasn’t afraid to admit that maybe she had needed a change just as much as he had, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. They were living a lifestyle now that he had never envisioned possible but now that he had it, well, he knew it would be a hard shift back away from it all. Sort of like a hard crash after a wealth-induced high.

But that was a problem for the future (possibly?) and now, Steve was going to enjoy the hell out of the present.

Steve relaxed into his seat, letting his head incline back. From the corner of his eyes, Steve watched as Bucky lowered himself further into the leather seat and slid his sunglasses onto his face. Bucky’s long fingers were tapping relentlessly against his thigh now and Steve starred, entranced at the movement.

But then, a new song began and Becca shrilled from the backseat as Troye Sivan softly drifted from the speakers. Steve blinked and turned to look back through his window.

 

* * *

 

Walking up the stone steps of the Met was easily one of the top highlights of Steve’s life. He had yet to step one foot through the door but it just felt like this was where he was supposed to be, where he  _ belonged _ . He was in awe, taking in the museum’s exterior with wide eyes and slowing his steps down enough so that he could savor the moment.

“Not as interesting as you imagined?” a voice rang out from Steve’s left. It was warmth as it drifted through his system, skimming against his skin and leaving goosebumps along his flesh.

Steve swallowed and turned to eye the brunet that suddenly stood by his side. Bucky’s arms were shoved into his jacket and his sunglasses are looking forward, pinned on the building in front of them as if he hadn’t said a thing.

Steve’s bright blues face forward once again. “No,” he answered. “It’s more.” He softly smiled up at the towering architecture and let his feet follow after the others. Bucky dragged behind him, close enough that when George ushered them all indoors Bucky’s arm brushed against Steve’s. The touch was small, almost nonexistent, but it was  _ there  _ and Steve was suddenly hyper aware of Bucky moving around him and sliding up beside Becca.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to look towards the brunet and instead, didn’t let his attention stray from George as he was greeted by an older, balding man.

“Dr. Barnes,” the man greeted with a smile, wasting no time in sticking his hand out for George to shake. “How wonderful for you all to join us today. And I see some new faces as well.”

“Mr. Hollein,” George greeted in return. “This is Sarah Rogers and her son Steve,” George held out his hand and gestured towards them. Steve gave the man a polite, tight lipped smile as his ma reached out and shook Mr. Hollein’s hand. “I’ll be needing to add two additional passes onto our package--”

Steve turned his head when he caught movement through the corner of his eye and watched as Bucky silently began to move away, walking towards a hall to their left. Steve watched him go even though his feet begged to follow.

 

* * *

 

 

Apart from a few families and a handful of suited up workers, the museum was empty. Steve was quick to learn that these were considered  _ Private Hours,  _ and you had to pay a pretty huge fucking bill to get access. But was Steve complaining? Hell. No. 

It was quiet, the way a museum  _ should  _ be, and there were such few people that everyone had the chance to properly examine the exhibits and actually get something personal from it all. It was like heaven on earth.

They had been there for over two hours and they were still moving around, going from painting to painting, sculpture to sculpture. They were together in a sense but not really; Becca jumping back and forth within eyesight of her dad, George and his ma walking hand in hand, Bucky in his own little world.

They would silently rotate around each other like a quiet game of cat and mouse. When Bucky would move on, it would only be natural that Steve did the same. They stayed at opposite ends of the exhibits, polar negatives that refused to attract, and stayed that way.

Until Steve glanced at Bucky and realized the brunet hadn’t moved for over ten minutes. Steve frowned in confusion and darted a look towards the rest of the group as they started to make their way into the next room. He met his mom’s questioning gaze and used his thumb to point at the closest painting. She nodded and strolled away with George which left Bucky and Steve alone in the empty hall.

Steve quietly stepped up to stand next to the brunet. Bucky was so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard Steve approach nor was he even aware that the others had already moved on. Steve shoved his hands into his pockets before he broke the silence, “I’ve always thought it was cool how unique Van Gogh was.” Bucky’s gaze flicked toward him and Steve suddenly felt horribly that maybe he had intruded. But when Bucky didn’t look away or say anything, Steve swallowed down his nerves and looked towards the painting, “Like, uh, how you can tell it’s his artwork. He really puts his emotions into the brush strokes, y’know?”

Steve could feel the blush settle high on his cheeks as Bucky continued to look at him. He made sure he kept staring at the painting because he wasn’t sure what he would find if he looked towards Bucky and the thought was too much for him to comprehend. Steve could understand paintings. The brunet by his side? Steve  _ didn’t  _ understand him.

Bucky tore his stare away and nodded towards the painting. “What’s it saying then?” he asked, voice low and unused.

Steve took a step closer to the painting, minding the velvet rope that kept them at bay. It was the piece  _ Wheat Field With Cypresses  _ and Steve’s eyes quickly jumped into action. “Well, each painting always has a personal meaning. What the painter is saying can be different to me than it is for you so I can’t really say what the painting means exactly. But…”, Steve tilted his head to the side, “...but I see...peace. The sky is clear and there isn’t any animals, no people, no one to pass any judgements on you. It’s all so calm when it’s only you and no one else…”

When the words die in his mouth he peeks through his lashes to see Bucky watching him. It’s silent between them and as the moment drags on, Steve blushes in embarrassment at his rambling. Bucky hadn’t asked for a whole life’s story for crying out loud and there Steve went making a downright fool of himself. He wished the ground would just swallow him whole and leave nothing behind. That would be so much better than--

“Peace, huh?” Bucky said, turning away from Steve and looking back at the painting. “How can a guy paint about peace if they suffer from psychotic episodes so badly that they end up cutting off part of their own ear?”

Steve frowned at the brunet. “Maybe,” Steve spoke, hesitantly, “--he painted it because it’s what he wanted most. He desired it the most so he created it for himself.”

Bucky kept looking at the painting, his eyes darting at every little detail he could, like he was trying to find what Steve had said. But then he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and pulled his elbows in close to his sides. His brows furrowed as he took a step away.

“It’s just a painting,” he said, nothing more than a whisper within the room.

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “True, but… it still makes you feel something.”

The brunet turned away from the display completely and faced Steve. There was a look that flashed across his face, that Steve knew wasn’t a trick of his eyes, but when he blinked and tried to find it, it was gone. 

Bucky’s face was blank as he stared at Steve, repeating, “It’s just a painting.”

The words were stronger this time and before Steve could say anything more, Bucky moved away and left him behind.

 

* * *

 

They don’t travel far for lunch. When George had announced that the restaurant was only five minutes away, Steve had suggested that they just walk to avoid the downtown traffic. It would have been a ten minute walk at most but before Steve could even finish talking  _ both  _ Becca and Bucky had quickly shot him down. 

And, well,  _ okay  _ then. They obviously despised that idea.

“Fifth Avenue is a bit too crowded,” George had supplied. “Too many things to do, too many people. It’s best to just take the car.”

They pile back into the Escalade and buckle in.

 

* * *

 

They arrived at Gramercy Tavern in fifteen minutes, which apparently is Becca’s  _ absolute  _ favorite. When they pulled up, Steve was surprised to see a valet parking system in place, something that George took quick access of. The worker wore a bright red vest and took George’s keys with care. His ma nodded in thanks and Steve felt the urge to do so as well even though Bucky and Becca bypassed the younger man without a glance. Bucky’s head was tipped down, his chestnut hair hanging down into his face as he followed after George, his footsteps quick. Becca was walking briskly in front of him, close on her father’s heels and small hands clutching at his arm.

Steve frowned at their urgency. It was so night and day compared to their lazy movements at the museum.

When they stepped into the restaurant, Steve felt his brows lift. There were large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the lights low and dim with ambience. The tables and chairs were all in dark wood, with pristine white cloths covering the surface. There were tall arches with sky beams that were elegantly carved and painted portraits on the walls that made the whole place look fancy yet comfortable at the same time.

George was greeted by an older man, who asked for name that their table reservation was under. Steve quickly realized that this is one of  _ those  _ restaurants where you have to have a reservation in advance to be seated.

They were escorted towards the back of the restaurant, in a corner, at a round table with tall, clear wine glasses and polished silverware that practically glisten beneath the lights. At least now Steve knows the difference between a salad fork, a dessert fork, and an entree fork. Which,  _ thank you google _ . He gets positioned between Becca and his ma, with Bucky between George and his sister.

A waiter approaches them fairly quickly and hands each of them fancy menus that don’t have any prices by the entres. Steve skims the selections and bites the inside of his cheek when he realizes that he literally doesn’t understand half of them. It’s all a jumble of italian cuisine that leaves him staring.

“What are you gonna get?” Becca leaned towards him and picked up her menu to hide her mouth from the others.

Steve’s mouth popped open. “Uh...don’t know. Maybe the Beef...T-Tart-t-are?” He knows he absolutely butchered the name but at least he gave it his best.

Becca’s nose wrinkled. “Beef Tartare? Why would you get that?”

“Because I saw the word beef and have no idea what else any of this is,” he hissed out.  

She grinned up at him. “Well, if you want  _ beef _ , then I suggest you get something that’s actually cooked. Beef Tartare is nothing but raw meat.”

Steve’s own nose wrinkled at that because who the heck would eat raw meat? Weren’t there health codes in place for things like that?

“Then… I’ll get the, uh…” Steve’s voice trailed off, eyes frantically skimming across the menu. “Maybe the, uh…”

“Get the Lamb & Merguez. It’s the best thing they’ve got here.”

Steve’s eyes dart up from the menu and flicker towards Bucky. The brunet hadn’t picked up his menu and was staring at them with something close to amusement on his face.

“Becca only eats noodles and you said you wanted meat so…the lamb is good. And most importantly, it’s  _ cooked _ .”

Steve nodded and let his menu fall flat onto the table. That settled that then.

 

* * *

 

It all goes so smoothly that Steve momentarily forgets himself. He just goes along with the flow of conversation without any awkward pauses and he even cracks a few smiles when Becca and Bucky bicker childishly at random things, discussing events that happened prior to Steve’s arrival. They talk about family members that Steve doesn’t know and even bring up Becca’s thirteenth birthday that is two months away yet is still discussed seriously as if it’s a few days away. Steve let’s himself get caught up in the normality of it all and is honestly thoroughly enjoying himself. 

So, it’s not much of a surprise when it all suddenly goes to shit. Because that’s just how Steve’s luck ran.

They had already finished eating dessert when George turned his attention to Steve. “So, Steven, how are you looking forward to graduating?” George asks. His voice is stern like always and it makes Steve want to lock up. “Any plans for afterwards?”

Steve forces himself to look at the man, meeting his strong gaze head on. Everything about George is so  _ in-your-face _ that it’s hard to do anything otherwise.

Steve casts a quick glance in the direction of his ma and feels at ease only when she gives him a nod of encouragement. He’s never really talked about himself to anyone apart from his ma, sometimes to Sam too but not in as great of detail. He’s always considered himself more… closed off when it came to the more personal information regarding his life so he isn’t quite sure how to answer George’s questions.

He sits up a bit straighter as he responds. “I, uh, I’ve been leaning towards applying to art school.”

Steve isn’t expecting an impressive reaction from George, considering the man is one of the top cardiologists in the world, and he knows that getting an art degree isn’t the most spectacular thing to some people. But if George is one of those people, he doesn’t show it and instead, he flashes those perfect teeth of his in a smile.

“That’s wonderful Steven. Any schools in mind?”

That has Steve swallowing down heavily because his ma had been asking him the same question for weeks until they moved in with the Barneses. It had almost been refreshing not having to stress about it. Well, until now, that is.

“Not really, no,” Steve said. “I have to start the application process and see what my financial packages would be before I make any decisions--” Steve isn’t blind to the way George glances at his ma before quickly looking back at him. “--But I’m pretty sure that I want to stay in New York.”

Steve darts a look towards Bucky and Becca, who have both been quiet for some time. Bucky is using his fork to push the small uneaten bits of his chocolate cream tart around on his plate, not looking up. Becca is at least looking as Steve speaks but there is a slight furrow of her brow and that makes Steve suddenly worried that perhaps they don’t want to listen to him speak about himself. Therefore, when George directs yet another question in Steve’s direction, he nearly sighs.

“Well, if you were to choose your  _ ideal  _ school, what would it be?”

Steve wants to shrink in on himself because he’s starting to itch being under the spotlight. Cause  _ god  _ is that a bright fucking spotlight.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Steve lies through his teeth. He knows damn well where he would like to go but there’s too many unknown variables to be considered and it’s not like George needs to know any of it. So he responds with a short and simply explanation, “I haven’t really started looking into any of it.”

He thinks George buys it with the nod of acceptance that the man gives him. Steve can’t tell if he is actually being sincere but it’s something at least.

“Well,” George smiles, “if that’s what you enjoy doing then I commend you on that. Not many people are brave enough to do what they truly want to do, especially in today’s world.”

Steve stares at the man in something close to shock and feels his cheeks get warm at the compliment. It actually feels  _ good  _ to be acknowledged by someone as successful as George and he opens his mouth to say thanks but suddenly a fork is clattering down, loudly clashing against a plate.

Steve’s head whips to the side and looks at Bucky with wide eyes. The noise was loud enough that it causes several of the guests to crane their necks and look towards them in curiosity. Part of Steve wants to mutter his apology towards the people they have interrupted but a second part of him wants to flick them all off and tell them each to mind their own damn business. He does neither and stares silently at Bucky. 

But the brunet doesn’t spare him a glance. His piercing grey eyes are trained on no one but his father.

“ _ Really _ ?” Bucky clips out. His jaw is clenched tight and Steve can see the bubbling mercury boil behind those grey eyes of his. He looks more pissed than Steve has seen him and if looks could kill...

George flashes a look towards his son. “ _ Bucky _ ,” he warns in a sharp whisper. If Bucky could kill people with his eyes then George could kill people with that voice.

Bucky disregards his father entirely and turns onto Steve. The brunet is strung up tight like a coil and has no mercy as he faces Steve. “No offense, but a  _ fine arts _ degree?” he says with a look of disdain. “That gives you what? Twenty, thirty thousand a year?”

Steve flusters for his words, “I don’t really see the importance of--”

“That’s  _ if  _ you’re lucky enough to find a job,” Bucky interrupts him. “Seems a bit risky and more importantly  _ pointless  _ to even go to school if the best you can get out of it is ending up teaching art to a bunch of snot-nosed kids at an elementary school somewhere.” The brunet is staring Steve down like he’s the stupidest person on the fucking planet and every fiber of Steve’s being is screaming at him to jump the table and wrestle the asshole to the floor. Bucky has  _ no  _ right to pass on his judgement as if he’s important in Steve’s life, as if he has all the answers to the universe crammed inside his thick skull.

Steve sets his jaw and glares across the table. “I enjoy it,” he grinds out. “It’s what I want to do.” Bucky has the audacity to scoff. In that moment, Steve swears he sees red.  

“And what, exactly, is it that you do?” Bucky asks with narrowed eyes.  

“Does it matter?” Steve bites back. His retort seems to shut the brunet up as Bucky only raises his brows in response. That arrogant look is on Bucky’s face and Steve wants nothing more than to slap it away.  _ Hard _ .

They stare at each other from across the table, neither backing down, and the tension is so thick that Steve could cut it in half with his knife if he wanted to.

Miracuously, it’s his ma that saves the day. When the obvious strain at the table had lasted for one second too long, Sarah quickly diminishes the silence. “Steve likes to draw. He can paint too when he has the supplies,” she smiles towards him, and it’s enough that Steve begins to ease up again. He looks away from the brunet entirely and grins in appreciation. Hearing the words from his ma has never failed to cheer him up, now more than ever.  

“He doesn’t give himself enough credit,” she continues to explain. “But he’s quite talented at what he does. You could ask him to draw anything you wanted and he could give it to you. He’s going to be a great artist when he grows up-- he already is.”

Steve feels like he’s practically glowing in affection and he is nearly overwhelmed with the amount of pride he has in being her son. He only glances away from her when he realizes that Bucky has turned quiet once more. Steve wonders if his ma realizes her potential if she can successfully shut Bucky up when it’s obvious that George struggles to.

Steve watches the brunet carefully as he keeps his grey gaze pinned on Sarah. “And you’re... fine with that?” Bucky asks, his words spoken slowly as if he’s choosing them carefully. “You’re okay with letting him get a fine arts degree knowing it isn’t worth much?”

His ma lets out a gentle chuckle. “I’m not letting Steve do anything. Whatever Steve wants to do, then I will be more than happy to support him. I want what’s best for my son and if that means letting him follow his dreams, then a fine arts degree is more than worthy. Sometimes life isn’t about the money.”  

Bucky stares at Steve’s ma as if she has just performed a miracle before his very eyes. He swallows in silence and Steve tracks the movement of his throat with keen attention. But when he looks up at Bucky, the brunet looks… lost. He looks like he’s been thrown out of his element and the world is slowly crumbling around him, frazzling him in his chair.

“Right,” he mutters, nodding his head. Steve isn’t sure if Bucky is talking to himself or agreeing with his ma but either way, Steve makes himself not care. Or at least he tries to.

But Bucky nods his head again, stronger this time, and Steve watches in silence as Bucky’s jaw moves and Steve knows the brunet is biting into his cheek. Bucky glances sharply at George but his father isn’t looking back, finding his watch much more interesting.

Something happened then.

Something so quick that Steve almost missed it.

Bucky visibly curled in on himself, his shoulders inching up towards his ears. But then he halts, as if he catches himself and he lifts his chin up, eyes hard as they return to Steve.

“Well that’s just  _ swell _ ,” Bucky speaks, his tone cruel and harsh. Steve is instantly put on the edge again, knowing that Bucky is getting ready to spit fire. He glares at Bucky as a grin begins to spread across his face. Steve can’t help but notice how  _ wrong  _ it looks. A handsome face like his shouldn’t be so cold.  

“How lucky we are that we’ve got ourselves a modern day Van Gogh sitting at this very table,” Bucky finishes. Somehow the grin has turned into something more like a sneer and Steve feels a sharp ache in his stomach, something that makes him feel like he’s on the brink of tears.

Steve drops his gaze.

He knows Bucky is making fun of him in a way that is almost intimate between them, that moment in the museum flashing against the front of Steve’s skull. No one else at the table hears the insult for what it is and Steve  _ hates  _ it.

He hates  _ Bucky _ . More than he has ever hated anyone else. He thinks back to Flash Thompson bullying him relentlessly through elementary school, and even Johann Schmidt punching his face just a few short months ago and even  _ they  _ can’t get the level of anger that Steve is feeling in that very moment.

His ma must sense the change in atmosphere because she is suddenly diverting the attention away from him and onto Bucky by asking, “What is it that you plan to do after you graduate, Bucky? Anything exciting?”

Bucky blinks, breaking his stare towards Steve and slides his attention to Sarah. The brunet almost looks confused that she’s addressing him but before he can verbally respond, a deeper voice breaks the silence.

“Bucky will be going to Columbia University next fall. He’ll be majoring in Engineering, specializing in robotic technology mechanics,” George spoke with ease.

In surprise, Steve’s anger is pushed aside and his brows lift in astonishment because that sounds like awfully smart stuff and honestly if someone were to hand him a screwdriver he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Robotic engineering sounds like some genius level I.Q points to Steve.

But when he shifts his head to glance at Bucky in question, the teenager and his sister are sharing a look.  

And-- and there’s something there, Steve can tell. The two Barnes siblings do that alot, have silent conversations when no one else is looking. Steve almost wishes he could understand what they are saying but then again he figures he’s not really one of them. No fancy clothes or elegant restaurant visits or living in a mansion will ever bring him on their level.

He’s an outsider in their world.

He mimics Bucky’s actions from earlier and slouches slightly in his chair. He’s listening with one ear as George continues to drone on about Bucky’s achievements, something about placing first in the state science fair for the past seven years, getting academic honors and having an internship with Stark Industries for his entire high school career (which apparently is an extremely well resume booster according to George’s). Honestly the man goes on for at least ten minutes before Steve even realizes he’s dozed off. He looks towards his ma who is smiling softly as George speaks, then towards Becca as she nods along with what her father says. But when he glances at Bucky, he realizes that the guy hasn’t uttered a single word since his father began speaking. Bucky’s grey eyes are downcast and he nods his head in a rhythmic motion as if he’s agreeing with George’s words but his eyes are distant and blank and Steve doubts he’s listening to a damn word that George says.

And boy does George talk. On. And on. And on.

“So do you know where you want to work once you get your degree?” Sarah turns her head towards Bucky.

Bucky’s head drifts up and he glances towards his father as if he’s waiting for the older man to answer for him instead. George says nothing however and it is only then that Bucky speaks.

“Stark Industries,” he answers, short and to the point.

His ambition is certainly...admirable, Steve thinks. Stark Industries is  _ big _ . Easily considered the top technology company in the world, bypassing brands like Apple and Samsung and LG to the tenfold.

“That’s a pretty big corporation to work at,” Steve says. His voice is harder than he intended it to be but Bucky had been an asshole to him so why shouldn’t he be allowed to do the same towards the brunet? He can do whatever the hell he wants. 

So he does.

“I’m sure they have thousands of people lining up submitting their resumes,” Steve continues on. “The competition has to be extensive even if you are already an intern.”

Bucky snorts at that. There is that same arrogant look on his face and Steve’s lips thin in aggravation.

“I mean, by paperwork, I guess I’m an intern--”

He  _ guesses _ ? Steve frowns.

“--but, I’ve never worked with the other interns and couldn’t tell you how many there are either. In all honesty, I have no idea what they do or who they work with and I have no idea how high their competition rates are so kudos to you if you take the time to look up their competition rates.”

“You’re just  _ that  _ confident in your abilities?” Steve asks with narrowed eyes. From the corner of his eyes, he can see the stern look his ma shoots him but he’s too fed up that he just doesn’t care. “You’re just so sure you’ll get this job without any back up plan?” 

Bucky’s gaze sets on Steve. “Considering Howard Stark sits at our dinner table once a month and says it every time I see him, yeah, I guess I am pretty damn confident.”

Steve almost doesn’t believe him because Howard Stark is the real deal. Like Forbes Top 10 Billionaires every year for Steve’s entire life.

“The Starks are family friends,” George explains. “Bucky and their son, Tony, have been close since they were kids. Nice young man but a bit on the wild side.” The older man shoots a look towards his son but Bucky avoids his gaze

And, well, that shut Steve right up. Who would have figured that  _ Tony  _ would have turned out to be Tony Stark. He should have known that people like the Barnes only communicate with other people just like them-- wealthy beyond belief. Figures that Bucky would have it all laid out for him, no worries about employment or paying for school. Steve wouldn’t lie and not admit that the unfairness stung just a bit.

“They’ll do great things though,” George nodded. “I’ve seen some of their prototypes. Impressive stuff.” It’s the only time has a reaction to what his father says, and slowly a grin spreads on his face. Unlike before, this look isn’t cold and forced. It doesn’t escape Steve that when Bucky looks like that, he looks so much more carefree and--  Steve looks away when it starts to become too much.

Sarah shoots a proud smile towards Bucky. “That’s great. I’m glad you’ve found something you enjoy as well.”

Steve watches Bucky’s face as the grin that had been on Bucky’s face dims a bit. He visibly closes off and nods his head. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Steve says nothing. He hopes that the conversations will be over because he’s had too much of it and if Bucky says one more word to him he swears he will shoot up from his chair and storm out. There is only so much Steve can take for one day and he knows he has met his limit. The anger he has crawling beneath his skin is still to fresh to ignore so instead of having to look at Bucky, Steve turns his head to look out at the dinner room of people. Thankfully they all turned back into their own meals, forgetting Bucky’s scene from earlier.

Apart from one girl who is still very much looking at them and… and has her phone out and angled in their direction. Steve’s brows furrow in confusion because it is quite obvious that the girl is either taking pictures or filming them and that’s just  _ weird _ . He didn’t think they were being  _ that  _ loud but apparently the girl had a thing for filming family disputes, probably wanting to post it on youtube or some crap. Which is even stranger because it wasn’t like they were throwing fists or screaming at the top of their lungs at one another.

Steve doesn’t care that he’s interrupting George when he brings the filming girl to the other’s attention. The very second the words leave Steve’s mouth, the effect is instant. In the blink of an eye, Bucky pulls his sunglasses down from his hair and slides them onto his face, bringing his elbow up onto the table and using his hand to obscure his face.

“ _ Dad _ ,” he angrily hisses out.  

Becca’s head whips around towards the filming girl just as George flags down the nearest waiter. And Steve-- Steve has no idea what the fuck is going on. He sits there wordlessly as George speaks urgently to the waiter, his words hushed so lowly that Steve can’t catch them.

Becca is peering at her brother with a worried look and she leans towards him as Bucky mutters quietly to them all. “Fucking  _ parasites _ . Can’t go to fucking lunch without having to worry about people taking damn pictures,” he seethes.

“They are taking care of it,” George looks towards his son but the brunet scoffs.

“Taking care of it? How?  _ It never fucking stops _ ,” he continues on. “This is why I didn’t want to come.”

“Dad, mom is gonna be mad,” Becca is biting down onto her lip. She looks more worried than Steve has ever seen before, her bubbly persona diminished. “Remember what she said--”

“Of course I remember what she said,” George exhaled heavily. “It’s hard not to.”

Steve just sits there and stares. _What the hell is going on?_


	6. Something Close To A Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! To make up for it, this chapter is like three updates in one.

“You could have said something,” Steve groaned and flopped backwards onto his bed, bringing his hands up and shoving his long fingers through his hair. His ma had already closed the door behind them so he wasn’t shy on voicing his complaints any longer, nor trying and failing to keep his cool. With the door shutting him off from  _ them _ , Steve was free to lose his shit. 

“What was I supposed to say?” his ma looked at him in exasperation as she sat at the edge of the bed. “They don’t like any of…  _ it _ , so I felt I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Steve scoffed bitterly. “ _ It _ ?” he repeated, leaning up on his elbows to look at his ma. “You mean  _ fame _ ?”

A  _ shit  _ load of fame at that. Not  _ only  _ was Bucky and Becca the children of world renowned, highly successful Dr. George Barnes but they were also the children of world renowned, highly successful  _ supermodel  _ Winifred Hubbard. Steve had heard of the woman-- hell, everyone knows of her, she’s a household name-- and had seen her pictures on the covers of various magazines for over the past decade. Winifred Hubbard was the cream of the crop within the celebrity world, at the top of the A-list celebrity ranking where people lined up on the streets just for a mere glimpse of the woman.

Which, as Steve personally witnessed first hand, resulted in her children being the targets of her eager fans as well.

“Steve, it’s not--” she sighed heavily, and he watched as her eyes tracked the room, trying to find the words to say. Steve frowned; his ma almost looked like she was in pain because of the situation. “ _ They  _ aren’t famous. George and the kids want nothing to do with any of it but--”

“Well they obviously have it,” Steve snapped. He was kinda angry, no doubt, and he knew better than to snap at his mom but… heck, a little heads up would have been appreciated instead of looking like a deer caught in headlights back at the restaurant as the world dived into chaos all around him. Steve had panicked when the Barnes’ reacted because if something could disturb their usual coolness, then what was Steve to expect?

Obviously he knew now. Which only brought forth a more important question: Where did that leave Steve? Bucky and Becca were used to living a lavish lifestyle with money at an endless supply and Steve, well, he was slowly starting to come to terms with that. But fame? Fame was something else entirely. Fame put them on a pedestal, above the regular nobody’s of society-- people like  _ Steve--  _ and fame took away the privateness of their lives. And Steve couldn’t possibly ever see himself getting accustomed to that. He was in no shape or form someone who could be famous, even by association, and just the thought of his picture possibly being in a magazine-- his scarny and awkward self shuffling his frantic steps beside Bucky and Becca when they scrambled for the car-- made his skin crawl in mortification.

And now it was highly likely that people all across the globe were looking at those exact pictures or would be first thing in the morning.

_ Jesus _ , he could feel his heart thumping in his chest just at the possibility. He was already subjected to more… negative comments about his appearance and he knew how nasty tabloids and gossip columns could get. They would have an absolute field day with him.

Steve closed his eyes in defeat and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“I suppose…” his ma trailed off, looking at him cautiously with a frown on his face. “Sweetheart, are you mad? I know I should have told you but I… I just didn’t know how to say it. It’s a completely different situation than what either of us have ever been in.”

Steve snorted at that because wasn’t that the truth. How was any of this  _ normal _ ? It’s like day by day it got more and more  _ abnormal _ . Or maybe it was just his life? Because that would certainly make more sense.

Yeah, yeah it would.

It doesn’t take long until his ma is bidding him goodnight once they smooth things over as much as they can. He strips his clothing, hanging the garments back in his closet before he crawls into his bed with pajamas covering his skin.

It takes a long way for the flash to disappear behind his eyelids even when after he eventually falls asleep. 

* * *

It was just past nine thirty when Steve trotted down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast. Becca hadn’t gone to get him so he figured she was either still sleeping or was getting ready for the day so he had taken it upon himself to walk around the house on his own, thinking it was high time he do so. Because it wasn’t as if Becca would always be there to lead him around like a dog on a leash. If this was supposed to be his  _ home _ , then he needed to act like it was so if he wanted to go get some food in his stomach then duh, there was only one obvious move on his part.  

As Steve walked down the hall that lead to the kitchen, he eyed the various pictures and paintings that are placed expertly on the walls. There is a designer’s quality to all of it-- the way the picture frames are all the same shade and are hung up at perfect angles, and how the paintings match the colors on the walls and granite floors. He thinks back to the few pictures that his ma had put on their walls, how none of the frames matched and those irritating ones that would stay crooked no matter how many times Steve would reach out and re-position them. He pays close attention to the high quality of the pictures and knows instantly that all of the photos hanging were taken and printed by a professional, one that seriously knew their stuff. He let his gaze linger on the walls as he continues his steps. He’s always had a fascination with pictures, having this thrill of seeing people-- even strangers-- get caught in a specific moment in time, smiles on their faces and bodies frozen behind the lens for the rest of eternity. Which is why Steve is entranced as he passes by the gallery wall of photographs that are in a beautifully contrasted black and white. There’s one of a child Bucky carefully holding a baby Becca, a missing front tooth on full display for the camera. Then there is another of the two, a few years later, with Becca sitting between Bucky’s legs, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and a huge outstretched smile on the younger girl’s face as she gazes up at her brother. There are several photos with the siblings apart, growing up through the years, and Steve smiles at one particular shot of Becca standing up tall with her hands on her hips and pigtails on both sides of her head because it’s just so  _ her _ , her personality captured and framed. His gaze travels upwards to the hanging portrait above it and feels the smile slowly fade off of his face.

Steve’s lips part as he stares wordlessly at the picture of Bucky. The photograph can’t be more than a year old because it still looks so much like Bucky, just with shorter hair. The brunet is leaning against a wall with his ankles expertly crossed and gazing off to the side. Behind him the background is unfocused which leaves Bucky sharp and refined, his clothes tailored to his body like a second layer of skin and his angles are so fucking  _ perfect  _ and-- and all Steve can do is  _ stare _ .

Enraptured.

He feels a warmth spread deep within his stomach and he knows that it’s dangerous and so  _ wrong  _ but he can’t help it. He’s known about his sexuality for years now and it’s no slap in the face when he is able to quickly distinguish what that warmth is. The feeling is intoxicating and spreads throughout his body the longer he looks but he can’t stop. Steve feels that pull that’s always present when Bucky is near, the one that makes him hyper aware of Bucky’s every move and word, even his breath. It’s unexpected every single time and it scares the _ living hell _ out of him.

Steve blinks. abruptly turns away and pushes his legs forward to the kitchen. He goes as fast as he can to put as much distance between him and that picture as possible. Steve shook his head trying to get those sinful thoughts out of his head, thinking that he just needs to distract himself with food. Clear his mind and think properly once again. He has every intention of doing so and is a mere step away from the entrance of the kitchen when he suddenly halts in place as he hears George’s voice drift out.

He stops because George isn’t alone. There is a woman’s voice that is very much  _ not  _ his mother.

Steve carefully peers around the archway and catches sight of George talking into a tablet monitor resting on the counter. He has his hands planted on both sides of the device and looks annoyed as the woman’s voice continues to drift out. It’s only then that Steve realizes that the woman most definitely does not sound happy.

“How do you think that makes  _ me  _ look when  _ my  _ children are plastered on TMZ with your new mystery woman?” the woman bit out. Steve’s ears tingled at the sharp acidity that spit through the receiver. “You could imagine my surprise when my publicist calls me first thing in the morning to inform me the faces of my children are on every tabloid within the country!”

George sighed in aggravation. “We knew this was going to happen eventually, Winnie. I told you Sarah and I had gotten serious and you know--”

The woman cut George off with a noise of impatience. “US Weekly had the  _ audacity  _ to title their piece ‘ _ New Mommy On the Horizon for the Barnes Kids _ ’. Or, perhaps you would like to hear that Entertainment Weekly titled theirs  _ ‘Winnie’s Absence Has No Effect, Hello Mystery Woman!’.  _ Or, get this, George, it’s the latest rave on People-- ‘ _ Yes, There Is a Woman Better Than Winnie Hubbard!’ _ ”

George scoffed, and Steve could see from his spot when the older man rolled his eyes. “How bold of them,” he drawled out in sarcasm, his tone just as sharp and harsh as the woman’s. “God forbid they dare mention your name in anything less than perfection.”

“This is serious George!” the woman scolded him. “You should know better than to bring any new woman around the kids! And then she has a son of her own? Did you even take into consideration how uncomfortable Becca and Bucky would be? You know the kids aren’t well accustomed to strangers yet you had no respect to--”

“Oh give it a rest Winnie!” George barked into the screen. “You know damn well that I put our children first. Sarah and I have been seeing each other for over a year and this was the next step. I stuck to your wishes and prolonged them from meeting until I deemed it necessary. Hate to break it to you, Winnie, but that time has arrived and Sarah and her son are  _ more  _ than welcomed by our children.”

“You honestly expect me to believe that?” the woman, Winnie, hissed out. “I  _ know  _ our children and they wouldn’t just accept these new people without any problems. Our son, especially.”

George shook his head. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you besides get used to the new coverage. Do  _ not  _ put this on me that it is my fault our kids are in the tabloids once again! Last I checked, it was  _ you  _ that wanted all of it.”

“How  _ dare  _ you try to--”

Steve began to slowly and quietly back away, knowing that he had heard more than he probably should have. His stomach would have to fucking wait. It was an enormous invasion of privacy on his behalf and as Steve took careful steps backwards, the argument between George and Bucky and Becca’s mother dimmed. Just as he was a fair distance away, Steve spun around on his heel and shot towards the foyer.

Or at least that’s what he intended to do but instead, he froze as his eyes landed on the figure that was only inches away.

Bucky was  _ right there _ , standing so close to Steve in the hallway that the blonde could feel the faint body heat lick against his bare forearms. Steve fumbled with his footing as he scurried away but not far enough as he could still smell the crisp scent that Steve had gotten accustomed to as purely Bucky. He eyed the brunet warily, feeling the blush bright on his cheeks at getting caught eavesdropping. At least Bucky was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, although really, it did nothing to prevent Steve’s heart from attempting to leap straight through his chest.

He opened his mouth to apologize, “I--”

“It was a relief when they finally separated,” Bucky spoke, jolting Steve on the spot. His grey gaze was looking to the side, flickering from photo to photo hanging on the wall. Anywhere but Steve. “Have no idea how they lasted as long as they did. Then again, dad spent so much time at the hospitals and mom was always going on shoots so they didn’t really see each other for long periods of time.”

Steve frowned as he eyed the brunet. He had always listened to Sam talk about his separated parents but they had been apart for so long that they had somehow become friends again in an ironic type of way. They were still separated but now they were close friends which was something that Sam swore was a better, healthier relationship than when they had still been married. But going off of that disastrous phone call between George and Winnie, the same couldn’t be said for them. And well, that was a pretty shitty thing to have to tolerate.

He swallowed heavily. “Sorry about that,” Steve honestly responded.  

Bucky’s gaze slid onto Steve. “ _ Sorry _ ?” he echoed. Bucky was looking at him in confusion, his dark brows scrunched. “For what? Are you not aware of the benefits of having separated parents? Both trying to outdo one another. Buying gifts bigger and better at every chance they get. Shouldn’t you know all about that?” There was a shit-eating grin on Bucky’s face and Steve almost stuttered at the sight because it wasn’t the usual glare that the brunet sent his way. But then the words that Bucky had spoken finally registered in Steve’s head and he slowly deflated.

“Uh,” Steve’s tongue suddenly felt too big in his mouth. “N-no. My parents aren’t separated.” Bucky’s eyebrows rose at that admission and Steve was quick to clarify his miswording. “My dad died when I was two. He died in combat.”

Something flickered over Bucky’s face; his grin fell from his lips and he blinked, as if he was waiting for Steve to laugh and say  _ it’s just a fucked up joke _ . But Steve didn’t laugh and he kept his gaze hovering over Bucky’s shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. For a few long and awkward moments, the two of them stood there in the hall, looking in opposite directions. Steve fiddled with his fingers throughout the painful silence.

But then, Bucky straightened himself up and cleared his throat, “You were going to the kitchen. You don’t have to leave because of my parents,” Bucky spoke. “That’s fairly civil compared to what they can really do.”

Steve glanced in his direction but quickly looked away as he saw Bucky’s eyes trained on him, always so heavy and sharp that they seemed to shoot straight through Steve’s body. Steve swallowed heavily, “I… I wasn’t… I’m not hungry.”

Bucky stared at him as if he didn’t believe a word that Steve said, reading the balant lie for what it was. Bucky isn’t stupid and Steve doesn’t mean to run away but he doesn’t want to walk into the shit-storm between Bucky’s parents so…

“Then why were you heading towards the kitchen?” Bucky shot back, his voice deadpanned.

Was it suddenly National Interrogate Steve day? Sure did feel like it. “I was just looking for Becca,” Steve replied. He sure as hoped that it was a good enough reason.

The brunet scoffed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a shit liar, Steve?” Steve opened his mouth to spew his defense but Bucky didn’t wait to hear whatever it was that Steve was going to say. Instead, Bucky took a carefully exaggerated step to his side and pushed his arm out to beckon Steve past him, pointing away from the kitchen. His path was now clear for escape and he eyed the empty hallway like it was a trick Bucky was trying to pull. “If you want to leave, then leave,” Bucky’s voice had Steve looking up. “No one’s stopping you. Besides, I would hate for you to feel uncomfortable.” The last word was absolutely dripping with sarcasm and it felt harsh against Steve’s ears.

There was a strong rush that made Steve’s blood boil and he wanted nothing more than to sock Bucky right across his perfect fucking jaw, and blemish his fucking perfect skin with a bruise that would last for days and make Steve grin in satisfaction every time he saw it. But Bucky being an ass is something that Steve is getting used to. So instead of shoving Bucky aside and telling him he can go shove that bullshit sarcasm somewhere where the sun don’t shine, Steve forces his feet past Bucky with his head held high. It’s a cowardish move on his behalf but it is also him being the bigger person as well, which is something that his ma had instilled in him at an early age. Any man could swing his fist and cuss a storm but it takes an even greater man to do neither.

He doesn’t look back towards Bucky until he reaches the end of the hall, right where the foyer breaks off into different directions. As he shuffled around the corner, Steve turned his head to peak over his shoulder just as Bucky reached out and tilted one of the framed photographs to its side, ruining its perfected placement. The brunet doesn’t turn to look at Steve. Not once. Instead, Bucky slaunters into the kitchen and leaves the crooked picture frame behind without a second of consideration.

It isn’t until Steve’s climbing up the steps that he realizes it’s the first time Bucky has said his name. And  _ fuck  _ does that do strange things to his brain.

* * *

Weeks go by, which in Steve’s opinion is just about short of a miracle. He spends the majority of his time between his sketches and playing video games with Becca, usually watching a few movies a week in the theater room with a large bowl of popcorn resting between the two of them. Sometimes, depending on the movie, Bucky will join them but he never sits next to Steve. On more than one occasion, when there was no space beside his younger sister,  Bucky had purposefully sat on an entirely separate couch just to avoid sitting next to Steve. It doesn’t hurt Steve’s feelings. Not at all. Not one bit.

There are some nights when his ma and George go out together, leaving Jarvis in charge as Bucky gives a mock salute from the second floor balcony instead of saying goodbye like a normal person. The very second the door would close and leave the three of them parentless, Bucky would roll his eyes before he vanished through the hall leading to his room and from there, Steve and Becca would zoom off to raid the pantry and snack on pretty much everything as their desserts cooked in the oven, and they would take turns lip syncing with the large whisk to the loud tunes that drifted from the tablet on the counter. As much as Steve loves his ma, nights like this are some of his favorite. It’s so different from growing up as an only child and he sincerely enjoys Becca’s company, from her childish jokes and antics to the refreshing feeling of actually being  _ normal--  _ if he were to ignore the large crystal chandelier that hung over their heads and the stainless steel double stove that baked their goods and endless supply of fresh foods and well, everything else around them.  

On these nights, Bucky will glide in and snag pieces of whatever they baked and then grab something to drink before he’d sit down at one of the stools and down his food. As he’d eat, Bucky would swap a few sentences with ~~them~~ Becca until one too many glances towards Steve’s awkward self would be enough and then he’d declare his boredom and slip from the kitchen just as quickly as he’d come. Which, again, not like Steve cared. Like, not even the slightest.

Another thing is that somehow his closet slowly begins to fill up. It’s almost in the blink of an eye that the barren shelves get filled with pairs of shoes and too many blue jeans to count and hangers full of pressed collared shirts and jumpers in every color. The strangest part is Steve has no idea where they come from, they just show up and somehow happen to be in his exact size. He hardly ever touches those unless they go eat dinner out of the house. Most days he’ll just wake up and grab whatever lies in his drawers, closet and nice clothes being forgotten.

Then, the once pale and empty walls of his bedroom are painted a dark muted shade of blue. The furniture is all replaced in a dark brown wood with the subtlest finish of grey on the polished surfaces and his sheets match the walls and they’re the absolute softest fabrics that Steve has ever felt and-- and it’s all so awesome and beautiful, like  _ really  _ beautiful and Steve almost can’t believe that it’s his room. But it  _ is  _ his because there’s a picture of his mom and dad on the end table beside his bed, and another of him and his ma on his dresser, and his sketchbook and portfolio are placed delicately on his desk by the window. Becca had smiled when she saw the finished product and had told him it looks like him (whatever that means). His ma had hugged him tightly and had felt the same as Becca on describing the room as very ‘Steve’. Bucky had yet to take a step into his room, not even sparing it a glance.

Or at least for the past eight days he hadn’t. Which is why when Steve entered his bedroom with his hair slightly damn from his shower and his pajamas warm on his skin, he almost had a heart attack when he walked in on Bucky staring curiously at the picture of Steve’s parents in  _ Steve’s  _ room.  

Steve could only stare.

“Your door was open,” Bucky said when he must have sensed Steve’s arrival. He didn’t look over his shoulder at Steve, just kept his gaze on the picture frame. “Figured you wouldn’t mind,” Bucky added.

Uh. What.

“Uh, no,” Steve answered, his voice not as strong as he’d like. Bucky turned at that, and looked over at him. “I-I don’t mind,” Steve clarified.

Bucky’s gaze flickered away with his dark brows raised slightly as if he truly couldn’t care less if Steve did or not. Now that Steve thought about it, Bucky hadn’t really been asking for his permission had he?

Steve stayed quiet as Bucky made his way around the bed, walking around the room as if it was his, and as he passed, Steve caught the fresh breeze of Bucky’s shampoo and he realized with a jolt that it smelled the  _ exact  _ same as what Steve had been using for weeks. And  _ shit _ . He wanted to slap his forehead because how could he be so careless? Steve had apparently been using  _ Bucky’s  _ bathroom supplies and hadn’t taken a second to even consider if he was supposed to use them or tell Jarvis to order his own because maybe people do a thing like that. Honestly, he feels like a downright fool.

Steve holds his breath as Bucky continues to walk past him and if Bucky noticed anything, he said nothing. Instead, Bucky’s attention was darting to the few sketches that Steve had gently taped onto his walls a few days prior. Steve tongued his cheek as Bucky continued to stare and stare and stare. Steve fiddled with his fingers in the quiet.

“You look like him,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. His gaze flickered back to Steve and he nodded his chin towards the picture by the bed.

Steve didn’t need to look to understand what Bucky was talking about. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “My ma’s always said that. I don’t really see it though, considering…”

Considering how everything about Steve was not proportional like his dad. How his dad had broad shoulders and thick arms and firm muscles and Steve had thin bird bones and ribs that could be seen through his skin and lungs that didn’t work right. All Steve had was the blonde hair and the blue eyes but so did his ma, so.

“Considering what?” Bucky asked. As if Bucky needed him to point it out. It was plain as day and night.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a thing everyone says with parents and their children. I’m sure people tell you that you look like George.”

Bucky turned towards him fully. “Do you think that I do?” he asked. There was a look in his steel eyes that made Steve think that this time, Bucky really wanted to know the answer.

“Yeah,” he answered, shrugging again. “You have uh, his jaw and the slight cleft in your chin. And… and the eyes,” Steve motioned towards his own with a lazy raise of his hand. He watched Bucky as the brunet moved around the bed and ran his fingers over the sheets, before running them along the wooden frame. Bucky moved around Steve’s bedroom as if he was exploring something new; touching every surface and inspecting the few knick-knacks that Steve had placed throughout his room, Bucky’s grey eyes flicking from one object to the next. The only way that Steve knew that Bucky was listening to him at all was the small nod the brunet gave and the quick, fleeting glances. It was almost… Steve actually felt at ease with Bucky, as if he was talking to a friend and no longer finding Bucky’s presence suffocating. Well, Steve still felt Bucky’s every move and his presence wasn’t something that Steve could pretend to ignore-- but the air didn’t feel heavy as if it was waiting for one of them to snap, like it usually did.

“But, I mean, I think you look like your mom more,” he continued. But as  _ soon  _ as Steve gave his admission, he wanted to shove them back into his mouth when Bucky’s movements halted. Steve’s eyes widened and his face flushed just as Bucky turned around to eye him.

“I see you’ve done your homework.” Bucky’s voice was tight, with his arms crossed over his chest. He was staring at Steve in that dead way of his, just short of a glare.

“My mom kinda explained everything to me last night,” Steve began, slowly. “After the whole dinner thing. I had no idea about any… of it.” 

Bucky snorted. “It?” he echoed. The word rang in Steve’s ear and he had a brief flash to when he had said that exact word to his ma the night after that eventful diner. Funny how life worked sometimes. “You mean the chaotic shit-fest of my life?”

“I didn’t mean--”

Bucky waved him off, “I know.” He gave out a deep sigh. “I know what you meant.”  And well, Steve didn’t know what to say to that. Steve tipped his chin down and looked at his toes as they peaked out from the too-long legs of his plaid pajama pants.

A stretch of silence drifted between the two. Steve stood in the middle of his room as Bucky kept moving about, his bare feet slow against the plush carpet beneath their feet. The brunet made his way around the bed again, passing Steve once more. Steve looked through the damp blonde fringe hanging in front of his eyes and followed the brunet’s movements. The breeze of Bucky passing by was cool against Steve’s skin despite the long sleeve t-shirt he wore.

Then, Steve realized that Bucky wasn’t still nosing around the room. Instead, he was heading towards the door. Steve straightened up in an instant and there was a very real and very sudden flash of worry that shot through his body as he watched Bucky get closer to the door. Bucky wasn’t just going to leave right? Had Steve completely fucked up their only semi-friendly conversation? Had he been rude? Had he said something wrong? Fuck.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck _ .

But just as Bucky reached the door, he drummed his fingers against the silver knob and spoke,  “Your mom was right, by the way.” He said it over his shoulder like it was an afterthought. Steve furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Huh?”

Bucky glanced at him with something close to a smile on his lips, before he jabbed his thumb towards the wall with his sketches. “Your art,” he clarified. “It’s good, like your mom said.”

Steve swore his brain malfunctioned. Because there was no possible way that Bucky just gave him a compliment. No way. Steve must have misheard. He must have.

But… Bucky had been very clear and he still had his thumb pointed towards Steve’s sketches and he was looking at Steve with a faint-not-quite-a-smile-but-still-a-smile and that was a positive thing so-- Holy shit. Bucky had given him a compliment.  

Steve’s lungs threatened to heave or maybe collapse on themselves in shock. “T-thanks,” he stuttered out, his thoughts scattered in the wind. No one besides his ma and Sam had ever given him a compliment about his drawings before and for  _ Bucky  _ of all people to give his opinion… Steve actually swelled in pride and felt that he must be pretty damn good if someone like  _ Bucky  _ thought he was good enough for a compliment.  

But before Steve could say anything else, Bucky was giving him a sharp nod and opening the door and slipping through before Steve could take hold of himself. The door closed behind him, separating the two, and left Steve standing in the middle of his bedroom. Strangely, it felt emptier than before, more hollow and bare than it had before he had left to take a shower.

Steve takes the few steps towards his bed and frowns in the silence. He lifts his hand and lets it skim the base of his bed, the same spot where Bucky had ran his fingers earlier.  

Steve sighed and retracted his hand from the sheets before he let himself fall face first onto his bed. He closed his eyes in frustration because it’s then that he realized he should have said goodnight. He slowly falls asleep wondering if Bucky would have said it in return or if he would have stayed silent and disappeared anyways.

* * *

“Everyone is going batshit crazy Steve,” Sam’s voice is strong through Steve’s cellphone. He has the phone wedged between his shoulder and his left ear as he shuffled through the clothes hanging in his closet. George and his ma had come home together about an hour ago and had informed everyone that they would be venturing out for dinner for the night. Hence, needing to find an appropriate outfit and  _ hence _ , going through his closet that has way too many clothes. The amount is almost suffocating. The price tags surely are.

“Sarah Chamberlain asked for your number, dude. Like completely waited until pre-season training was over on Wednesday and was waiting by my car. She almost wouldn’t let me in my car until I lied and told her that I didn’t have my phone on me.”

Steve snorted. The visual of preppy, glossy lipped and shiny nailed Sarah Chamberlain asking for  _ his  _ number was the biggest joke if he’d ever heard of one. That certainly didn’t sound like the girl who happened to be the same girl who would sneer at him in the halls and purposely tripped him their freshman year for the whole damn school to see  _ and  _ laugh at. “Never thought that the captain of the cheerleading squad would ask for my number.”

“But it’s not just her that’s asking about you, Steve. Literally everyone has been hitting me up asking if you have any social media accounts or if I could give them your number because they ‘accidentally’ misplaced it when you apparently gave it to them before you moved.”

“I most certainly didn’t give--”

Sam made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “C’mon Steve. I’m not stupid. Remember it took me months to get you to give me your number and that was when I was supposedly already your friend.”

Leave it to Sam to be theatrical. Steve remembered quite well that he waited exactly five weeks before he had chanced it. They had met in middle school and had been paired up for some history project that Steve could barely remember now. He had been eighty pounds soaking wet and Sam had been the cool guy who had more trophy medals than Steve had medications and even though Sam had been more than Steve expected, he wasn’t a total idiot. It had taken a lot of xbox gaming and pizza movie nights before Steve finally gave over those precious and very private ten numbers that gave direct access to his phone. As much as Steve hated to admit, he had been on edge for weeks after that; jumping every time his ma sent him a message or a news email alert popped up on his phone (because that was all the action he got), expecting Sam to have finally broke his act and forwarded Steve’s number out to the mass hoard of bullies from their school and he was now at their mercy.

But Sam had never given his number out and no one had ever harassed him through his phone so he called it a win and that was that.

Steve sighed into the phone thinking about how a cell phone number was the least of his problems. School was only a few handful of weeks away. Less than a month and he would be back in that hell-hole and if Sam was anything to go off of, people would be trampling over him the very first chance they got. And for  _ what _ ? Steve had no fucking clue.

“They do still realize that I’m still the Steve Rogers they all love to hate, right?” he paused his shuffling movements and paused on a new baby blue button-up that he quite liked, before pulling the hanger off the rack.

“Yeah, but your also the guy who lives in the same house as the children of Winnie Hubbard. They’re like legit celebrities, y’know.”

Steve had to put Sam on speaker and reached out to place his phone on one of the shelves. With his hands free, he tugged his t-shirt over his head and threw it to the side before sliding the sleeves of the new shirt up his arms and buttoning.

“ _ Gee _ , I hadn’t noticed,” Steve remarked as his fingers fumbled with the buttons.

“Like, they’re all over paparazzi youtube videos. And in magazines. And at red carpets,” Sam went on.“How the hell did you not notice before, or more importantly, why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve frowned. He knew quite certainly that he had told Sam all about the Barnes family and in detail too. Had Sam not been listening this whole time? Because it had all been laid out for him, plain and simply.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked as he crossed the closet and eyed the shoes that lined one of the walls. There was a nice pair of brown oxfords that he had been waiting to wear, so he pulled them off the shelf and slipped his feet in. They were perfect sized, obviously.

“I mean, have you never heard of or seen James and Rebecca Barnes? How did you not know the second you met them?” Sam pushed. Steve had a feeling that his friend was shaking his head in disbelief.

In truth, Steve had never heard of them. Honestly. He wasn’t the kind of person who cared about things like that; he didn’t like to pry in affairs that weren’t his. So yeah he would read across the covers of magazines but he never flipped through them and he never cared enough to actually remember what celebrity was doing what. It’s not like they cared about him so why give them the time of day on his own behalf?

“Because I didn’t know, Sam,” he replied and leaned over to tie the laces of his shoes.

On the other end of the line, Sam made a wounded sound. “Please tell me you at least know who their mother is.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. I may not be the most pop cultured guy out there but I haven’t been living under a rock either.”

“Well if  _ you  _ know who she is, then imagine how our classmates are literally flipping their shit that you live with her kids and like,  _ haven’t  _ thrown a major party for every teenager in the state of New York to show up at,” he laughed.

Steve gets a strong visual of that movie  _ Project X _ and can easily picture reckless teens trashing the house and toilet papering the yard and throwing beer in the fountains. He pictures strangers dancing wildly on the floor while some try and sneak off into the bedrooms and Steve would be wrangling everyone to stay put but they wouldn’t listen to him because there would be so much drugs and so much sex and so much alcohol and then somehow the house would just combust into flames and he would be left to stand in a giant pile of ash and--

Yeah, that was never fucking happening.

“Ha,” Steve remarked dryly, “that’s never gonna happen and I will be more than glad to inform the rest of our classmates the very second I step foot through the school doors.” 

Sam’s laughter dies off at that and he falls quiet for a few seconds before, “Wait…. You’re still gonna be going to the high school?”

Steve stills in confusion and furrows his brows as he glances back towards his phone on the shelf. Uhh, what?

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Steve. Did you forget you moved? It’s not like your still in the school zone for Brooklyn High. There’s no way you would want to drive over thirty minutes to and from school everyday,” Sam points out. Like it’s the most obvious thing ever. And it might be, but Steve had somehow completely forgot about that tiny little aspect but now Sam has reminded him and now he realizes how  _ significant  _ that tiny little aspect is.

It’s more like a colossal fucking problem.  

He rubbed the back of his neck, “I hadn’t really--”

“Steve?”

Steve’s head shot to the side abruptly as he heard Bucky’s voice. He quickly straightened up and finished buttoning the top few buttons of his shirt that he had left undone in his haste to get dress faster. But now Bucky was obviously in his room, so Steve’s fingers tangled with each other as he fumbled to cover his pale chest. “I-in the closet,” he called out.

It takes less than a second before Bucky glides in, looking handsome as usual. As Bucky steps further into the closet Steve swears he watches as Bucky’s gaze darts over his form, his grey eyes trailing Steve’s body from head to toe with a look that is almost… No, Steve shakes his head slightly. There is no way in hell that Bucky would ever look at him like  _ that  _ so Steve knows it must have been a trick of his imagination.

“My dad called me that the both of us need to hurry up and get downstairs,” the brunet says, and his gaze moves to the side to look around the closet with an obvious lack of interest. But then he blinks and looks towards Steve once again, “So, like, are you ready?”

Steve jerks his head, nodding. He has to resist fidgeting with Bucky’s attention on him. It’s still kinda strange having the other boy in his space, alone to where it’s just the two of them, inches apart and breathing the same air. It’s ridiculous but Steve finds it to be more… intimate when it’s just the two of them. Like the way the air crackled slightly with something Steve couldn’t properly name. He could only feel it, and it was warm and enticing and something that he wanted to swallow whole and never let go.

“Yeah,” he swallowed thickly. “I just need to get a jacket,” Steve said as he tucked his shirt into the waistband of his pants.

He has one hand down the front of his pants and another that’s smoothing out the back of his shirt when Bucky brushes past him. “I’ll get one for you,” the brunet says, and starts shuffling through the few jackets that Steve has.

Steve has his ears trained on the faint movements of Bucky pushing the hangers this way and that, when he remembers that his phone is very much on and very much giving Sam full access to their conversation. It doesn’t bother him because it’s just Sam, but he peaks over his shoulder towards Bucky pulling out a jacket and realizes that unlike him, Bucky probably wouldn’t appreciate the invasion of privacy. Steve knows the other boy lacks enough of it as it is so he doesn’t hesitate reaching out and grabbing the phone from the shelf.

“I’ll call you later, Sam,” he says into the phone. He barely hears Sam say his goodbye when he’s thumbing over the end button and cutting of the line. Steve shoves the phone into his pocket just as Bucky approaches him.

“Here,” Bucky has a grey jacket outstretched in his hands and he’s holding it out for Steve to take. When Steve reaches out to take the garment, his fingers brush against Bucky’s. It feels like an electrocution, however cliche that sounds, but they both stare at the spot their fingers touch for a moment too long.

Steve’s mouth parts to usher out his apology when Bucky pulls away but the brunet doesn’t give him the chance to speak, “Let’s go before my dad has a heart attack.” He said it so casually that Steve had to blink, dumbly, and he realizes that he probably exaggerated the whole thing.

Right?  _ Right _ .

They start moving to the door. Then, as they step into the hall, the words Bucky said finally register and Steve snorts out a laugh. The irony wasn’t totally lost on him. Bucky glanced over at him with a questioning brow raised.

“I got the joke,” Steve explained, looking sheepishly at the other boy beside him.

At first Bucky looks confused but then realization slowly drops onto him and the corner of his lips tug upwards. It’s subtle, almost not even there, but Steve has seen Bucky enough times to know that it’s the brunet’s way of trying to hide a smile. The sight makes Steve long to see what a regular smile would like on Bucky’s face, like the one he had seen in the pictures hanging in the hall. It makes Steve wonder how it would look when that smile would be directed at him.

The curve of Bucky’s lips is still on his face as they reach the stairs. Eventually, however, they make it downstairs and join the rest. 

 

* * *

It’s a few days after his phone call with Sam that he brings it up to his ma.

She’s making a cup of tea when he walks into the kitchen and meets her at the counter. Steve is on the opposite side, with his forearms resting against the smooth surface as he looks towards her but as he leans forward and gets ready to spin off his question, a movement from the otherside of the window catches him off guard. He almost panics, but then he gets a flash of hot pink fabric dash by again and he breathes a sigh of relief because it’s only Becca in her swimsuit playing at the edge of the pool. Steve keeps his head turned to the left, watching as she jumps back into the pool and he watches as the water splashes and waves and he watches as she pops back up and smiles towards Bucky as she gets ready to do it again. He lets his gaze linger on the boy who is laying down on his back on a neon green bed float, shirtless and holding a soda can in his right hand. The sight makes Steve swallow heavily before tearing his eyes away and turning his attention back onto his ma.

“I was talking to Sam the other day,” he began. His ma was stirring sugar into her cup but had her eyes focused on him. “He was telling me about the kids at school reacting to my, uh, new situation.”

“And how are they reacting?” she asked. Her lips were downturned slightly as she regarded him, like she already knew. Of course she knew.

Steve looked down and back to the window. Somehow he found it easier to look at the two outside than he did looking towards his ma and that hint of sympathy on her face. Bucky was relaxed as could be, with his sister swimming around and under him, both sunkissed and so at ease in the privacy of their backyard as the water sparkled around them.

“They’re acting like I’m… them,” Steve answered and nodded his chin towards the windows, silently gesturing towards the young Barnes’. His blue gaze flickered back to his ma, harder than they were before as he continued, “Like they haven’t made my life hell since kindergarten.”

His ma’s shoulder sagged and her eyes turned soft as she looked at him, “Steve--”

He knew that tone. Her sadness, her pity. Steve didn’t want to hear it. “Apparently they’ve been asking for my phone number, or whatever way they can contact me,” he spat. “Sam won’t give it out, obviously, but they’ll be keep hounding for it like the leeches they are. I accidentally end up with my picture in a magazine next to those two and suddenly everyone wants to know me, suddenly everyone wants to be  _ my  _ friend.”

Steve paused in his rant and blew out a harsh breath of air. He half expects his ma to scold him for calling them such a vile name but she’s the one who would patch him up everytime he would enter the apartment bleeding and broken and needing to be put together again. She knows what they’ve done to him, what they’ve said to him, and that he has every right to feel however he wants to, wrong or not. Even if she were to tell him otherwise, this was an issue that Steve had dealt with for his entire life and he wouldn’t let go of it lightly.

Steve waits, but she says nothing. He takes it as a sign to continue. “When we were talking he kinda made a point about school that I hadn’t thought about until he brought it up.  _ So,  _ I need to ask: Will I still be going there when school starts back up?”

“You know, I think you are the only kid in the entire world who wants to talk about school during summer break,” she grinned, probably appreciating how their conversation has lightened considerably.  

“Ma, this is kinda important.”

“I know that, Steve.”

“Then let’s talk about it,” he urged. Honestly, it was either a yes or no. What was so difficult here?

“We will.”

“Why not now?” Steve shot back. He was honestly starting to get a bit worried. Was there something else happening here?

His ma sighed and she gently tapped her fingers against her cup of tea, considering. “Because it’s something that George wanted to discuss as a family.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. Because 1) George had nothing to do with Steve’s education and 2)  _ Family _ ? Is that what they all were now? Was it official?

His ma witnessed the look on his face and she took a deep breath, “We’ll talk about it later, okay? When George gets home I’ll make sure we discuss it, alright?” Steve keeps staring at her, tracking her movements as she puts the sugar back in its spot and quickly washes the spoon that she used before drying it and putting it into the drawer with the others. She doesn’t leave her things lying around like he’s seen Bucky and Becca do. It’s a fairly common occurrence that the two would just leave the table and leave behind their dirty dishes without a care in the world and not saying a simply thank you to Jarvis and the staff as they cleaned up behind them. Even when they would have a snack, they’d leave their trash behind and just expect for it to be taken care of as if all it took was a magic snap of their fingers. Steve would wait until they left the room before he would jump into motion and take care of the mess before Jarvis could see.

Steve sighs in defeat. He knows he’s not going to get any answers from her but the whole ‘wait for George’ is enough to grate on his nerves.

“You should go join them,” she nodded out the window towards the two in the pool. “Summer isn’t going to last forever, remember? Enjoy it before you can’t.”

Steve flicked his gaze between his ma and the window, regarding his options. “But--”

“Sweetheart, I promise we will talk about it later, okay? Go have some fun for a few hours.” He knows she’s not really giving him the option so it’s what he does.

Ten minutes later, Steve is padding barefoot against the warm stone slabs that bake in the summer sun. There’s a nice breeze that keeps things fresh and not terribly unbearable to where he’s choking in the summer heat. But the sun is bright and high enough that he has to smear a thick glob of sunscreen on every visible piece of skin from head to toe, enough to where his skin is just an oily mess.

He has on a pair of swim trunks that are nowhere near new but he’s only worn them maybe twice in his life so they’re fairly decent. Steve’s also wearing a t-shirt and he knows it’s kinda ridiculous that he’s wearing one considering he’s about to jump in a pool and that Bucky walks around half naked all the time. Unlike Bucky, however, Steve doesn’t go parading around with skin on display like it’s some kind of garment. No one’s ever seen him shirtless apart from his ma like a decade ago so it’s not like he’s gonna be strutting his stuff (or lack of) anytime soon.

As Steve approaches the poolside, his feet stop in a puddle that has splashed up and over the edge. The water feels  _ good _ . He honestly can’t remember the last time he even went swimming, that’s how long it’s been. And now he has one in his--

“ _ Steve _ !”

Steve picks up his head to look into the water as Becca begins to swim towards him. She cuts expertly across the water like she’s had a few lessons in the past and Steve envies how effortless she makes it look. Of course he can swim, but he just happens to look like a drenched rat more than anything.

He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him but he pretends to be more concentrated on Becca as she approaches. Even though he really, really wants to take a peek at that gorgeous golden skin. From the window he could see Bucky’s tanned skin and the water that glistened off of his body and the definition of his toned abdomen, so he really can’t afford to look towards the other boy because there’s a fairly large possibility that he won’t be able to stop.

So he doesn’t chance it.

He’s still standing there on the edge when Becca hoists herself up and gets to her feet. She’s bouncing around him like a little puppy and tugs on the sleeve of his shirt, “Steve! Steve, watch this!” Before he can do anything, Becca is bouncing carefully towards the diving board and makes sure he’s watching before she runs across its surface and jumps high into the air.

Steve didn’t know what to expect exactly, maybe some delicate little dive or a dainty twirl in the air, but right before his eyes Becca pulls her knees to her chest and does the most obnoxious cannon ball he has ever seen. And right. Next. To. Bucky. Like missing him by a mere inch.

The water drenches him completely and the waves tousle the bed float enough to make Bucky throw out his arms to catch his balance and prevent himself from topping over. Bucky waits until the waves die down before he pushes himself up, using his free hand to slide his soaked hair out of his face just as Becca breaks the surface. She giggles into the water as she darts a glance towards her brother before looking over at Steve.

“Funny, right?” she laughs.

“Hilarious,” Bucky deadpans. There’s an amused grin on his face though so Steve knows that he’s not pissed at least. Well, the brunet frowns down at the soda can in his hand, which no doubt is filled with the pool water, but a soda isn’t something that Bucky is gonna get upset about.

Becca snatched the can away and swam to put it on the edge of the pool, a good arm’s length away. “Steve told me to do it,” she lied and ducked her head lower into the water to hide her smile.

Bucky’s eyes shot to him and Steve felt caught in his stare. “No I didn’t,” he fumbled with his words and tried his damn well hardest to ignore Becca’s snickering as Bucky kept looking at him. His skin was warm and red and it had nothing to do with the sun.

“Surreee you didn’t,” the young girl teased him. She swam up to the edge where he was standing and reached out to wrap a wet hand around his ankle and pulled gently, “Hurry up and get in!”

He’s not one to ignore orders.

Steve enters through the shallow end, taking step by step to get used to the cold water against his skin. Each step he takes the water slowly travels further up his skin, drenching his swim trunks. When the water is up almost to his waist, Becca is suddenly right in front of him and shaking her head.

“Do you want to drown?” she asks with wide eyes.

“What?”

“My mom always says that you can’t swim with a shirt on because when it gets wet, it gets heavy and can weigh you down or it can cover your face and make you choke. Do  _ you  _ want to choke?”

Steve glances down at the faded shirt covering his torso before glancing back up to the young girl, “No…”.

It sounds more like a question than an answer but Becca doesn’t move away and she nods pointedly towards the shirt, waiting for him to apparently take his life more seriously. He stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, debating if she’s being serious, but she’s still looking at the damn shirt so Steve figures she is.

Steve realizes he’s not gonna get out of this one easily so he heaves a sigh a begins to reach for the hem of his shirt. He darts a quick look in Bucky’s direction but the brunet’s dark, polarized shades are hiding his eyes and Steve has no way in telling if Bucky’s eyes are closed or if they’re wide open and he’s looking straight at Steve.

Steve looks away and doesn’t waste time pulling the damn shirt over his head and tossing it to the side before he throws himself the rest of the way into the water. He clenches his teeth tightly together as the cold water takes him in.

It doesn’t take long until the water warms and then it all feels  _ so  _ good. Becca and him take turns racing from wall to wall, then the young girl starts showing off underwater handstands and flips both forward and backward. From the deeper end of the pool, Bucky’s head lays sideways and he watches their every move.

It stays like this for about an hour, with Steve and Becca swimming around one another while Bucky floats with his face tilted up into the sun.

But then, when the amount of fun that two people can have begins to dwindle away, Becca pulls Steve in the direction of where Bucky is. They are quiet as they approach and Steve stops advancing when Becca lets him go to swim under Bucky’s float. When she pops up on the other side and carefully touches her brother’s arm, Bucky breathes in through his nose like he’s waking.

“What are you doing?” Bucky drawls out and starts turning his head to look at the younger girl. Becca doesn’t answer and Bucky immediately can sense the mischief of his younger sister. “Becca...” he warns, already trying to sit up but suddenly, Becca is pushing the float up with all her might and Bucky goes toppling over the other side. 

The side where Steve just happened to be standing.

Bucky falls right into him, in a heap of slick limbs and they both go under. It happens all so fast. Steve can’t focus on anything but the feeling of Bucky pressed against him. Bucky’s hands are gripping both of Steve’s arms and their chests are pressed together, with their legs tangling in the water. Steve’s eyes are clenched shut as they go down but then he feels himself being hauled up as Bucky pushed himself to the surface, taking Steve with him. They break the water spluttering and coughing, but they’re still close together and their chests touch as they both heave intakes of air.

Bucky lifts up his hand to slide his askew sunglasses into his hair and he rubs the droplets of water away from his face. When he opens his eyes and sees Steve, Bucky’s eyes widen and he quickly pushes himself away, the water fluttering as he moves. Steve hears a faint apology get muttered his way and he wants to assure the brunet that he’s fine but Bucky’s gaze is averted and Becca’s laughs are loud as she slithers between them.

“Now we can play Marco Polo,” she says as she wraps her arms around Bucky’s neck “Your it first,” Becca informs her brother and begins to paddle away. “And no cheating!”

It seems that Bucky can’t resist her orders either. The brunet makes a show of covering his eyes and begins to count aloud. Steve pushes himself towards the other side of the pool and then the games begin.

From Marco Polo they switch to play Sharks & Minnows, then take turns tossing Bucky’s glasses into the deep end and compete on who can find them in one breath the fastest, and then, since he doesn’t have much to work with, Steve gets to judge who can make the funniest hairstyle out of the siblings. Steve can’t remember a time in his life when he’s laughed so much.

All in all, it’s one of the best afternoons he’s ever had.

* * *

It’s late in the evening when Steve’s ma and George walk right into the middle of their intense Mario Kart tournament.

The three of them had left the pool a few hours ago, gone their separate ways to wash up and change before they all hurried down the stairs and arranged themselves onto the couch where they sat knee pressed against knee beside one another. Becca is squished in the middle and they each take turns yelling in outrage when one too many turtle shells get throw their way and end up spinning their cars off the track, effectively kicking them from their hard-earned first place. They are all concentrating hard on the plasma screen tv in front of them and are each leaned forward so no one ‘accidentally’ knocks the other person’s controller out of their hand like Bucky had done to Becca in the one of the beginning races.

Each race they do, it’s neck and neck, and whoever takes first only does so by a tenth of a second, with the other two finishing in second and third. Steve’s won some, Bucky’s won some, and Becca’s won the rest. In short, it’s a blood race because  _ each  _ of them want that shiny virtual trophy that depicts them as the winner above the others.

So when his ma and George stride into the room and the later calls for their attention, the three of them are wide eyed and fuelled with adrenaline as the race is paused quite literally out of the blue.

“ _ Daaddd _ ,” Becca whined out. Funny enough, she’s the most competitive out of the three of them and when Steve glanced down at her controller, she still has the ‘go’ button held all the way down. She threw herself backwards into the cushions of the couch like she’s having a tantrum but one stern look from her dad had her chilling out relatively quick, her scowl turning mullish. Bucky, on the other hand, is still leaning forward and looking at his dad as if to try and get this to all pass by quicker so that he can just get back to the game.

Steve just sits there and looks towards his ma, already having a strong feeling what this is about.

“Before we eat dinner, I wanted to discuss the plans for when school starts back up in a few weeks,” George explained.

Bucky looked towards his dad in confusion and followed his sister by falling back into the cushions, the gaming controller held lazily in his hand and nearly forgotten. “What about school?” he asked but then he shook his head slightly and scrunched his face in confusion. “And why do we have to talk about this right now?”

“Yeah,” Becca nodded. “I was just about to beat--”

“ _ No _ you weren’t,” Bucky interrupted her.

The young girl huffed and glared at her brother. “Well, I won’t be able to if we can’t play, now will I?”

Bucky snorted. “Oh  _ right _ , because Steve wasn’t just kicking both of our a--”

“That’s enough,” George cut in. His voice effectively shut up both of his kids while Steve watched in silence. Then, George continued from before, “As I was  _ saying _ , with school only a few weeks away, we need to discuss where Steve--” the older man gestured towards Steve “--will be attending.”

Steve perked up when everyone’s attention slid towards him. Bucky and Becca were staring at him curiously as if he had the answers. As if. He was just as clueless as they were.

Steve cleared his throat as he looked up at George. “Will I keep attending my old school?” he asked. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t want to go back, because he did, kinda, well, for Sam really, but the thought of having to deal with the rest of his classmates and how they would now be around him was more than enough for Steve to sign up for anything besides Brooklyn HS. Like, being homeschooled sounded like a downright blessing sent from the heavens above.

George looked towards his ma as he answered, “Well, Steven, as much as I would want you to stay in school with your friends--”

Steve almost choked at that. Because him? Having friends? Yeah, joke of the century, pal.

“-- your mother and I both agree that it will be best if you were to continue your education where Bucky and Becca go to school.”

Made sense, really. Steve wouldn’t argue about that. Although, there was a small part of him that thought perhaps the Barnes’ were homeschooled. It seemed like a major possibility considering they were extremely rich and were just short of being full blown celebrities. But then, Steve frowned.

Because they were rich.

And they were semi-celebrities.

So if they  _ weren’t  _ homeschooled...

Steve fidgeted in his spot on the couch, “Where exactly will that be?”

“They attend a private school not far from here,” George explain. “It’s a nice establishment that I think you would enjoy. It’s probably different than what you are used to, but I think you would find it better suited considering your interest in fine arts.”

In all honesty, Steve stopped listening after the words  _ private school _ left George’s mouth. Because private school?  _ Private  _ school? That wasn’t free. Like at all. And everyone knew how pretentious private school kids were. They were the type that were usually stuck-up snobs who took every opportunity to flaunt their money and their shiny, expensive things and acted like they were better than everyone else. So private school wasn’t really Steve’s thing, to put it lightly.

Bucky and Becca may fit right in, but Steve would stick out like a sore thumb in a place like that. Probably get devoured alive in the process.

“I… I’m, uh…,” Steve’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, “As much as I appreciate that, I wouldn’t want you to go through any trouble on my behalf. I’m fine with going to whatever public school is closest.”

To his right, Becca gave out a loud gasp. “Public school?” she repeated, her nose wrinkled like she could smell something bad. “Isn’t that where they force feed kids prison food?”

On the other side of the young girl, Bucky snorted. “You obviously get prison food while in prison, Bec.”

Becca shook her head rapidly and sat up on the couch, “No. My friend Addie has cousin named Catherine whose grandma’s next door neighbor has a daughter who goes to public school. She said they have to eat, like, nasty stuff and there’s like thirty kids in each class and they all fight like animals.  _ And  _ they have to share everything. Like the computers and books and gym clothes. That’s so many germs. It’s disgusting.”

“They do  _ not  _ share gym clothes,” Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve bit on the inside of his cheek and didn’t say that yes, in middle school when everyone had to take a P.E credit, he most certainly had to use the school issued gym clothes that were littered in sweat stains that most definitely didn’t come from him. Yeah, he didn’t mention that.

“How would you know?” Becca narrowed her eyes at him “You don’t have any friends in public school.”

“Neither do you,” Bucky shot back.

George cleared his throat and instantly, both of his kids fell silent. “There is nothing wrong with public school,” he reprimanded the both of them with a glance in Steve’s direction. “Both Sarah and I would find it more comforting if the three of you went to the same school altogether.”

Becca gasped again, this time louder than before. “You’re gonna put us in  _ public school _ ?” she nearly screeches.

“No,” George huffed. “Steven will be joining the both of you at the academy.”

Becca sagged in relief and exhaled heavily. Steve glanced at her in bewilderment because if attending public school was that detrimental, he couldn’t imagine how the young girl would be later in life.

“The academy?” Steve repeated, looking up towards George and his ma. ‘Academy’ sounded awfully fancy. And expensive. And probably too exclusive for him to just waltz right in only three weeks out from the start of term.

“Bucky and Becca have attended Shield Academy their entire lives. I’ve already contacted Principal Fury and someone will be by in a few days and sit down with you so that you can select the classes you would like to take. Your mom has already transferred your transcript from your old school and Fury took the time to convert them into the credits for the academy, so you’ll be all set for your senior year.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing at all. He only nods his head and nods again when George and his ma tell them that dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. When the Mario Kart game is unpaused, Steve hardly pays attention to what’s happening because like the tires on the racecar he controls, his mind is spinning a mile per minute.

Because him in private school? That’s something that he’d never thought he’d deal with.

It would probably do him well to just stop thinking that completely considering everything he once thought would never happen to him, has been slamming into him one after another. It made him wonder just how much he could take before he broke completely.


End file.
